


Adventures With Altmer

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [10]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ondolemar is required to travel to Winterhold on business with the College, and asks Ryndoril to come with him. Along the way, it turns into much more of an adventure than either of them expect.</p><p>Bethesda owns Skyrim and in-game content, I do not.</p><p>SPOILER WARNING for Azura's Star quest and College of Winterhold quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“The finest jewelry in all of Markarth!” Kerah the jewelry-seller called out to the marketplace, hoping to attract someone’s attention. Her sales weren’t going well lately with so few travelers on the roads.

“The finest jewelry in all of Skyrim,” Ryndoril grinned, correcting the woman as he came up to her stall. Kerah laughed.

“Hello, thief,” she said. “Looking for Endon?”

“What, I can’t just be interested in the finest jewelry in Tamriel?” Ryndoril asked innocently, exaggerating further. Kerah snorted.

“Flatterer,” she said, shaking her head. Ryndoril chuckled.

“Got anything new?” Ryndoril asked the jeweler, starting to look over her stock.

“Looking for a gift for a friend?” Kerah asked. “Or…perhaps a lover?” she added slyly. The tips of Ryndoril’s ears turned red.

“Just looking,” Ryndoril said, trying to sound nonchalant. He wasn’t specifically looking for anything at all; he’d really just come over to say hello. The woman was the wife of one of the fences for the Thieves Guild, and he’d met her on occasion before; she was quite nice, and he liked her a lot.

“Right,” Kerah smirked, seeing the Bosmer’s reaction. She didn’t usually like dealing with any of Endon’s contacts from the Guild – a very memorable incident with the Guild Master himself stuck in her mind – but Ryndoril had always been nothing but cheerful and friendly. “What brings you to Markarth today?”

“What, you haven’t heard?” Ryndoril asked. “I live here now.”

“I know you do,” Kerah nodded, “but you never seem to stay in one place for more time than it takes to loot it.”

“Ah, so cruel,” Ryndoril said in a mock-hurt voice, putting his hand over his heart. “You wound me, milady.”

“Yeah, right,” Kerah snorted. “Alright, then. Anything you’re interested in?”

“Hmm,” Ryndoril contemplated. He wondered at the idea of buying something like this for Ondolemar; he wasn’t sure what the mer would make of it, and he already had that amulet from his mother. “Nothing’s catching my eye today. Except the pretty lady selling,” Ryndoril added with a playful grin. Kerah laughed heartily at this; anyone who knew the Bosmer very well at all knew he was about as straight as a broken arrow.

“I don’t think I’m your type,” she grinned.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the beauty,” Ryndoril winked. “Tell Endon and Adara hello for me, would you?”

“Of course,” Kerah smiled. Ryndoril waved as he walked toward the stairs up to his house. He’d just come back into town, and knew he could use a bath before doing anything else, though he wasn’t going to waste much time before seeking out a certain Thalmor.

“Ryndoril!” a voice called, startling him; he turned toward it and grinned widely. Ondolemar was striding toward him, usual sneer firmly in place.

“Hello, Commander,” Ryndoril said, barely able to contain his excitement. A week and a half had passed since he last saw his lover, and he was thrilled to see him once more – even if he was scowling.

“I need a word with you,” Ondolemar said imperiously. Ryndoril snorted, unsurprised at the elf’s pompous attitude.

“Alright,” Ryndoril nodded. “I was just heading up to put my things away – we can talk at my house.”

“Very well,” Ondolemar replied, motioning for Ryndoril to lead the way. Upon arriving at Vlindrel Hall, they walked in to see Lydia and Argis sitting at the table in the main room, finishing up lunch.

“Oh, hello, my Thane,” Lydia said with a smile. Ryndoril enjoyed the way her eyes sparkled in the presence of his other housecarl.

“Good to see you again, Thane,” Argis agreed, though he didn’t get to his feet as he usually did when Ryndoril came inside. _Progress_ , Ryndoril thought wryly.

“Hello,” Ryndoril replied, grinning at them before he caught the annoyed look on Ondolemar’s face. “Listen, would you two mind clearing out of here for a little bit? Say…ten minutes?” He glanced at the Altmer, and Ondolemar nodded stiffly.

“Of course,” Lydia said, getting to her feet at once. “We’ll just head out for the afternoon.”

“Thanks, you two,” Ryndoril said gratefully. Ondolemar didn’t speak as Ryndoril started putting some of his newly-acquired things away, waiting for the housecarls to leave. 

Not long after, the front door shut behind them, leaving the two elves alone.

“What’s got you so angry, love?” Ryndoril asked, immediately heading over to the Altmer and wrapping his arms around him.

“Just these infernal Nords,” Ondolemar said, though some of the annoyance was gone with Ryndoril’s embrace. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Ryndoril grinned up at the other mer, standing on his toes to reach up and kiss him. Ondolemar kissed the Bosmer back, relaxing slightly; Ryndoril’s lips had a funny way of making that happen.

“Where’ve you been this time?” Ondolemar asked as Ryndoril let him go, taking his hand and leading him toward the fire. Ryndoril had come up with a dozen or so furs to set in a pile by the fire, leaving them a soft place to relax by the warmth. Ondolemar, feeling quite at home, kicked off his boots and tugged his gloves off his hands, pulling his hood back, and Ryndoril removed his own boots before sitting down next to the Altmer.

“Cave full of draugr,” Ryndoril grinned. “Good times.” Ondolemar arched an eyebrow.

“If you say so,” he said disbelievingly.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Ryndoril asked. “Or did you just want to get me alone?” 

“I have business to discuss with you,” Ondolemar replied, his face reddening slightly at the Bosmer’s implication. “I have been tasked by the Ambassador to go to Winterhold; it seems the Thalmor agent stationed there requires my presence.”

“Winterhold, huh?” Ryndoril asked, frowning. “That’s a long way.” He knew it wasn’t really fair to be annoyed, since _he_ left for days at a time, but he didn’t really want the mer to go.

“Indeed it is,” Ondolemar agreed. “And with the province in such a state these days, a dangerous way as well.”

“True,” Ryndoril said, not feeling much better about that. “Well, I suppose you _have_ to go, don’t you?”

“I do,” Ondolemar said, seeming hesitant. “However…I was hoping perhaps I could convince you to accompany me.” Ryndoril stared at him for a moment, his mouth open.

“Me?” Ryndoril asked finally. “What about your guards? Don’t they have to go?”

“They don’t _have_ to, no,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “It would actually be better if they were to stay here, caring for my duties while I am away. However, it would be incredibly foolish to take the trip alone; as a Justiciar Commander, there are many out for my blood – and of course, Winterhold itself is under the control of those damnable Stormcloaks.”

“Right,” Ryndoril said, feeling a bit excited at the idea of traveling with the Altmer. “So – just you and me?” he couldn’t keep the hopeful tone out of his voice. At that, Ondolemar grinned – a rare sight for the Altmer.

“Yes, just us,” Ondolemar said, warmth spreading through him as he said the words. “What do you say, Ryn?”

“Of course!” Ryndoril cried, unbearably excited. “When do we leave?”

“Didn’t you just return?” Ondolemar replied, shaking his head in amusement. “Surely you would like to rest for one night. You look tired _now_.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I am,” Ryndoril admitted. It _had_ been one of the tougher draugr-filled crypts he’d dealt with this time, and he hadn’t really rested properly since.

“Then we can leave tomorrow morning,” Ondolemar said decisively. “There is no need to rush more than that.”

“Perfect,” Ryndoril grinned; this gave him a little time to restock potions and provisions as well. “But if we’re not leaving until morning…” Ondolemar chuckled at the sly note in the Bosmer’s voice, his cheeks reddening slightly again.

“I have a few things to finish up before I leave,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “And you need to get some rest.”

“Then rest with me,” Ryndoril suggested playfully.

“Would you prefer I stay here now and have to go back to the Keep this evening to sleep there after finishing my work?” Ondolemar asked.

“Alright, no,” Ryndoril laughed. “And I need a bath anyway.” Ondolemar thought he wouldn’t exactly mind helping with _that_ …but he did have things to finish, and much preferred to spend the night with the Bosmer. Besides, he’d never be able to bring himself to say such a thing.

“Then have your bath, get your rest, and I will see you this evening,” Ondolemar said, getting back to his feet and donning his boots and gloves once more. Ryndoril stood up, too.

“If you’re not here by nightfall, I’m coming to find you,” Ryndoril smirked. Ondolemar gave him an amused look.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. He reached for the Bosmer, pulling him close and kissing him fiercely. “I’m glad you’re home, Ryn.”

“Me, too,” Ryndoril grinned, squeezing Ondolemar’s hand. “Don’t work too hard.”

“I shall try,” Ondolemar nodded. He waved to Ryndoril before shutting the door, and despite the promise of later, Ryndoril still felt a little saddened at seeing the mer go.

Nonetheless, he went in to soak in his bath – dear gods, he didn’t ever want to give _that_ privilege up – and proceeded to lie down for a bit of a nap.

*****

Predictably, even after nightfall Ondolemar was nowhere to be seen near Vlindrel Hall. Ryndoril had occupied himself all afternoon by making potions and a bit of food to pack, then going around to the merchants in town for more provisions and finally to the smith to repair his armor. He’d had a feeling he would have to go and find Ondolemar; the mer worked far too hard and Ryndoril had started to notice it got worse when he was gone more than a few days.

Sighing a little to himself, he said good night to Lydia and Argis (who had kindly agreed to stay at the inn, likely not wanting to be anywhere near the elven lovers that evening) and made his way to Understone Keep. To his surprise, however, he found Ondolemar in the main hall, not at his desk. The Thalmor Commander seemed to be in a bit of an argument with one of the local Nords – a Silver-Blood, if Ryndoril’s memory served correctly. He’d seen the man in the Keep a few times, seeming to want an audience with the Jarl that he was never granted.

“Bloody elves!” the Silver-Blood was shouting. Ondolemar looked annoyed, but mostly weary. “If it weren’t for you –“

“Yes, I know,” Ondolemar sneered. “If it weren’t for us, you’d be allowed to openly worship that wretch of a man all you liked. I advise you, Nord, to hold your tongue.”

“You can’t put me in prison,” the man snorted. “I _own_ the prison, elf!”

“I can do plenty that would make you _wish_ you were in prison,” Ondolemar snapped. “Now I have told you – leave me be!”

“Then leave _us_ be!” the man retorted. “Bloody Thalmor, walking around like you own the whole damn country – “

“Is there a problem?” Ryndoril asked, coming up to them and eyeing the Nord distastefully.

“Who are _you_?” the Nord man asked rudely, eyeing the Bosmer. “Another elf. Hmph! You’re all alike.”

“I am the Jarl’s Thane,” Ryndoril said coolly; he didn’t make a habit of using his title in a superior way, but he didn’t like the way this man was treating Ondolemar.

“The Jarl’s Thane,” the Nord sneered mockingly. “Here’s what I think of the Jarl and anyone who’s a friend to him – _or_ these damned elves!” He spat on the ground at Ryndoril’s feet, barely missing his boot. Ondolemar growled with rage at the insult; the man could berate _him_ all he liked – gods knew he’d get what was coming to him eventually – but to insult Ryndoril!

“Ondolemar, don’t,” Ryndoril said calmly as the elf advanced on the Nord, a hand on his mace. “Come on. We have things to discuss.” Ondolemar was seething, but Ryndoril was right; the Nord wasn’t worth his time or his trouble.

“One of these days, elves!” the Nord raged as they walked away. Ondolemar bit his tongue to keep from replying to the man, focusing hard on the back of Ryndoril’s head to keep him moving.

“Apologies,” Ondolemar said stiffly when they were outside the Keep and away from the guards. “I was on my way out when –“

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryndoril said, offering the mer a small smile. “It’s alright.”

“Will your _housecarls_ be home?” Ondolemar asked, nearly spitting the word.

“No,” Ryndoril said, frowning a little at his tone. “They’ve gone to the inn. You can’t blame them for that Nord,” he added.

“If you think for a moment that either of them don’t fully agree with every word that damnable Nord was saying, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought,” Ondolemar snapped. Ryndoril rolled his eyes; clearly the mer was much angrier than he’d been willing to let on back in the Keep. He knew Ondolemar didn’t actually mean the words against him, and so simply kept walking.

Once they were inside the house, safely away from any listening ears, Ondolemar sighed, embracing Ryndoril.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You know I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

“I know, love,” Ryndoril smiled, squeezing him back. “You need to not let them get to you like that.”

“I was fine until he spat at you,” Ondolemar muttered. He was annoyed, of course, but it was nothing the damn Nord hadn’t said previously – he was quite used to it.

“And yet somehow, it didn’t kill me,” Ryndoril smirked, laughing when Ondolemar frowned. “It’s alright, love. Don’t worry about it. Get changed into something comfortable, why don’t you?”

“Right,” Ondolemar nodded, grateful for the suggestion. It _would_ be nice to get out of his robes and relax with the Bosmer for a little while, after his afternoon.

“Wine?” Ryndoril asked.

“Please,” Ondolemar said, heading off into the bedroom. 

The mer was already accustomed to finding clothes to fit him in the second drawer, but this time he was surprised; all this time they had been clothes left over from when Ryndoril bought the house, meant for a Nord. Although that meant they were generally large enough for Ondolemar, they still didn’t quite fit him properly, and he didn’t care for wearing them. This time, however, he pulled out a set of utterly different clothes and realized they were made for an Altmer, in the style of Alinor. A pair of soft breeches in a deep red color accompanied a matching long-sleeved softspun top, both with intricately stitched patterns adorning them in golden thread. The clothes were clearly new, obviously expensive, and incredibly comfortable. He wondered where the Bosmer had come across such garments; this was not at all the style of Skyrim.

“They fit,” Ryndoril grinned, already sitting on the furs by the fire when Ondolemar walked out. The Altmer looked good in the red color, and the clothing hugged his frame just right – the breeches were tight enough to be quite enticing.

“Where did you find these?” Ondolemar asked, walking over to him. “They’re lovely.”

“Radiant Raiment, in Solitude,” Ryndoril said, a bit self-conscious. He’d felt a bit strange, buying clothes for the Altmer, but he knew Ondolemar didn’t really like wearing the Nord clothing. “It’s owned by a couple of Altmer sisters, and they specialize in fine clothing.”

“You stole from Endarie?” Ondolemar demanded. What nerve the Bosmer had! He didn’t care for the rude female mer, or her sister for that matter, but they were still Altmer!

“No!” Ryndoril said at once, his eyes widening. “No, of course I didn’t. They…well…I had them made for you,” he said, his face and ears going quite red. “Since they were Altmer, I thought they’d be able to get the measurements right and everything…” Ondolemar immediately felt chastised for simply assuming the Bosmer had stolen them.

“I…I’m sorry,” Ondolemar murmured, sitting down next to Ryndoril. “Thank you, Ryn. They’re perfect. I truly appreciate it.” He was deeply touched by the gesture. Ryndoril smiled at that, holding out a bottle of the wine. Ondolemar uncorked it and took a drink, realizing it was the spiced wine Ryndoril enjoyed so much. “You had another reason for going to Solitude, I see,” Ondolemar chuckled.

“Well, since I was there,” Ryndoril laughed, glad the Altmer seemed to like the clothes. “So, I’m curious. If that Silver-Blood is giving you so much trouble, and he boldly confesses to worshipping Talos, _why_ haven’t you had him arrested?”

“Our dear Ambassador,” Ondolemar said, sneering slightly. “He’s a member of one of the richest families in Skyrim. She doesn’t want to annoy them further. They keep the Embassy supplied with a share of their money and silver, and in return they are allowed to remain free. I have no doubt that she will one day allow me to deal with the insufferable man, but for now I am to hold my peace.”

“What about the Jarl, though?” Ryndoril asked. “The Jarl’s loyal to the Empire – surely he could do something about it?”

“The Jarl’s no better,” Ondolemar sighed, rolling his eyes. “As long as the money comes, he will do nothing. And though he may be loyal to the Empire, he hates the Thalmor as much as the rest of them – he would never do anything that might inadvertently serve me.”

“What about Ogmund?” Ryndoril asked. “That bard I gave you the amulet for.” Ondolemar couldn’t help but smile a little as he remembered back to meeting the tricky Bosmer.

“He sentenced the man to a month in the prison,” Ondolemar rolled his eyes. “Said it was illegal to worship Talos, and so a month would remind Ogmund of that – as long as he ‘promised’ to rescind his heretical ways after the month was up, that was all he needed to do.”

“Damn,” Ryndoril frowned. “Sorry it wasn’t more help.”

“You tried,” Ondolemar said. “And regardless of the outcome, I appreciate it.” He was feeling a good deal calmer now with several sips of his wine and the Bosmer’s presence.

“Did you finish up your work?” Ryndoril asked, changing the subject as he took another drink. “I was sure I was going to have to come drag you away from your desk.”

“Yes, I did,” Ondolemar said proudly. “I truly was on my way when I was held up by that infernal man. He rants like a child.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re finished,” Ryndoril grinned, reaching over and taking Ondolemar’s hand. He squeezed it gently. “And glad you’re here.”

“As am I,” Ondolemar agreed. “Are you ready to set out in the morning?”

“I am,” Ryndoril nodded. “Got everything settled this afternoon. You?”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said. All his necessary belongings were settled with his robes in the bedroom.

“I thought we’d head for Morthal tomorrow,” Ryndoril said. “We can stay at the inn there, then make for Dawnstar, then Winterhold.”

“Three days?” Ondolemar frowned. It seemed like a lot.

“We could probably do it in fewer, if you’d prefer,” Ryndoril shrugged, feeling a bit disappointed. “Head for Whiterun and then up to Winterhold, maybe. I just thought you might enjoy a little extra time away from Markarth…since you told me you used to enjoy traveling Skyrim.” Ondolemar’s face softened at that – clearly, the Bosmer had been planning it this way for him.

“That was thoughtful,” Ondolemar said, squeezing the Bosmer’s fingers. “It is a very good idea to take our time.”

“I told you I’d get you out of the Keep to come with me one of these days,” Ryndoril said cheekily.

“I believe it was my own cunning that allowed for this, actually,” Ondolemar smirked.

“Alright,” Ryndoril laughed. “Well whoever is responsible, I’m glad it’s happening. I’m…glad you trust me to look out for you.” The level of trust Ondolemar was placing in him was quite flattering.

“Of course I do,” Ondolemar said, looking slightly surprised. “You’re clearly a capable traveler, and you already saved my life once.”

“That I did,” Ryndoril said, smiling slightly as he gazed at the Altmer. Ondolemar glanced back at Ryndoril, a bit of a smirk on his face.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure I ever properly thanked you for that,” he mused. Ryndoril laughed, glad that the Altmer had clearly calmed down enough to make such cheeky remarks.

“I don’t know, I think the next night was pretty sufficient,” Ryndoril teased.

“You think so?” Ondolemar said, arching an eyebrow and sitting back again, taking a drink of his wine. “Well, alright then. I suppose my work is done.”

“Not even close, Commander,” Ryndoril said, grinning in a predatory way before pouncing on top of the Altmer, kissing him deeply as they fell to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

The pair quickly found that they were well-suited to traveling with one another. Their trip to Morthal was relatively uneventful, but when something did come up, they handled it efficiently. Ondolemar was impressed with Ryndoril’s archery skill, and Ryndoril was fascinated by Ondolemar’s magic.

“You could do it, too, if you’d just try,” Ondolemar said wryly. “You _are_ an elf, after all.”

“Forgive me, oh master high elf mage,” Ryndoril teased. 

Ryndoril, as usual, showed his penchant for picking every last interesting plant they came across. Once, he’d scaled an extremely steep cliffside down to the river, grinning victoriously upon his return and holding up a faintly glowing plant.

“Nirnroot,” he’d said proudly. “They’re rare.”

“As will your life be if you fall to your death on those rocks,” Ondolemar had chided. His heart was in his throat the entire time he watched the Bosmer climb down, though the wood elf seemed to have it well in hand. Nonetheless, he’d been quite relieved when Ryndoril stood in front of him on flat ground once more.

Ondolemar himself was more likely to simply stop and watch a flowing stream, or listen to a waterfall, or even stare at a particularly lovely view off the side of the road. Ryndoril didn’t mind; he knew the mer must be glad to be traveling somewhere besides the outskirts of Markarth, and it gave him time to look for rare potion ingredients as well. They arrived in the city of Morthal just as dusk was falling, heading right to the Moorside Inn.

“You lookin’ for a fight?” a large Nord man said as they walked in, eyeing Ryndoril drunkenly. Ryndoril laughed, though the man stood a good head taller than the Bosmer.

“Drink another one, Benor,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I’m not here to brawl.”

“Alright, alright,” Benor muttered, ambling off again.

“You _know_ him?” Ondolemar asked distastefully as Ryndoril led the way through the people to the counter; the inn was more crowded than the Altmer had expected for the small town.

“Beat his face black and blue one night when he challenged me to a duel,” Ryndoril told him. “He’d had a bit too much to drink then, too…”

“So had you,” the Redguard proprietor of the inn said as they approached. “Good evenin’, Ryndoril.”

“Hello, Jonna,” Ryndoril grinned. “You might be right about that. Got a room?”

“Just the one,” Jonna said, eyeing his companion. “It’s got two beds, though.”

“Good enough,” Ryndoril nodded, handing the woman ten septims.

“You want somethin’ to eat?” Jonna asked.

“We’ll just put our stuff away and be right out,” Ryndoril nodded. “Thanks, Jonna.” She nodded her head once at him and he went off with Ondolemar behind him, already knowing where the room was from staying in the past.

“You seem to know these people well,” Ondolemar commented as he shut the door.

“When you travel a lot, you get to know the innkeepers,” Ryndoril laughed. “At least, the nice ones.”

“As friendly as you are, I don’t doubt it,” Ondolemar smirked, setting down his own pack by one of the beds.

“You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” Ryndoril winked.

“And I care nothing for the catching of flies,” Ondolemar retorted. “Must we eat out there with… _them_?”

“I know, I know,” Ryndoril sighed dramatically. “It’s an insult to the very essence of a superiorly-bred Altmer such as yourself to be forced to dine surrounded by _lesser beings_. But sacrifices must be made.” He tried hard to keep a straight face.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ondolemar snorted, though he had to admit he was amused by the Bosmer’s antics. “I simply prefer to dine alone when the occasion allows it.”

“Well, it won’t kill you to at least pretend to be social for an evening,” Ryndoril said. “Promise.” Ondolemar sighed, but followed Ryndoril back out into the main room anyway. The Bosmer was right; it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“Have you heard?” Jonna asked, serving them each a bowl of a rather bland-looking beef stew. “More reports of dragons – this time on the road.”

“On the road?” Ryndoril asked, a bit anxious at that. He’d seen the dragons flying overhead in his travels, but he was always careful to stay out of sight and not bother them.

“Yes,” Jonna nodded, taking a few more coins Ryndoril passed her for the food. “Not far from here, either – somewhere on the way to Solitude. Two men were attacked, and only one survived to tell of it.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for them,” Ryndoril nodded. “Thanks, Jonna.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Jonna said with a polite smile, heading back to her counter.

“Dragons on the road?” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “Does that mean there was more than the one we saw at Helgen?”

“Oh, definitely,” Ryndoril said, taking a bite of his stew. “I’ve seen several.”

“Several?” Ondolemar asked in surprise. “When?”

“Just while traveling,” Ryndoril shrugged. “They haven’t bothered me; they’re pretty easy to spot, and I try to stay out of their way. But I’ve seen at least three that aren’t the one from Helgen.”

“And now they are attacking,” Ondolemar frowned.

“Sounds like it,” Ryndoril said. “Don’t worry, though. We’ll just stay away from them. We’ve both got a good track record of getting away, don’t we?”

“True enough,” Ondolemar admitted, finally eyeing his stew. “This looks disgusting.” Ryndoril snorted, nearly choking on his own dinner from the surprise of the Altmer’s statement.

“You don’t have to be rude,” Ryndoril chastised, though he couldn’t help a snicker. “And it’s not _that_ bad.” Ondolemar decided it couldn’t be the worst thing he’d ever eaten, so bravely tried a spoonful; it barely passed as edible, in his opinion, but it would do.

The two ate in companionable silence for a little while longer. The inn was fuller than Ryndoril had generally seen it, though it could be due to the rain that had started falling as they approached the city.

They were both just about finished when a coarse, out-of-tune voice rang out over the babble of the crowd.

“I’m in the mood to siiiiiing!”

“What is that racket?” Ondolemar asked, sitting up and looking around as though he were fearful of danger. Ryndoril dropped his head to his hand on the table.

“Oh, no,” he muttered, then looked back up at Ondolemar. “Uh…that would be the bard.”

“Why is everyone leaving?” Ondolemar asked, noticing that several of the inn’s occupants were jostling for the door. “Is something wrong?”

“Er…not exactly,” Ryndoril snorted. “You finished? Let’s go to bed.” At least the door would help keep some of the sound away.

“Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…” the orc bard in the corner started to sing, oblivious to the fact that everyone was leaving. Ryndoril hurried toward their rented room, Ondolemar on his heels.

“Good evening, Ryndoril,” Jonna called miserably from her spot at the counter. He offered her a sympathetic smile before firmly shutting the door.

“Auri-El’s sake, what was _that_?” Ondolemar asked, looking rather taken aback.

“There’s an orc who lives here, named Lurbuk,” Ryndoril said, trying to ignore the voice he could still hear through the door and heading over to his bed. “Fancies himself a bard. He graduated from the Bard’s College in Solitude…and uh…”

“They _pay_ him to do _that_?” Ondolemar asked, wide-eyed. “My horse could sing better!” Ryndoril snorted.

“Oh, no, Jonna doesn’t pay him,” Ryndoril said. “She only lets him stay because he pays her.”

“Surely it’s not worth driving off all her customers?” Ondolemar said, absolutely baffled. “I’ve never heard anything worse in my life.”

“She doesn’t get that many customers,” Ryndoril said. “Those that were here had probably just finished up dinner anyway; they all live in town. There aren’t that many travelers on the roads these days, what with the war, and now the dragons.”

“By the Divines,” Ondolemar muttered, shaking his head. “Well. Might as well try to get to sleep for an early start, then, I suppose.”

“Probably,” Ryndoril chuckled. The two undressed, getting into the separate beds – each was too small to hold them both. “Sleep well, love,” Ryndoril called over to Ondolemar in the darkness after extinguishing the last candle.

“You as well,” Ondolemar replied, trying to make his thoughts drown out the bard’s wailing.

Ryndoril felt a small pang of guilt when he remembered their next stop of Dawnstar. The bard there was a female, but she wasn’t a whole lot better than Lurbuk. However, he thought it might be best not to mention that to the Altmer across from him.

*****

The trip to Dawnstar was less eventful than traveling to Morthal had been, though with the cold so far north both were grateful to get inside the warm inn. Unfortunately the bard was just as terrible as Ryndoril had remembered; Ondolemar accused the Bosmer of trying to torture him on purpose.

They set out for Winterhold the very next morning, freshly rested and bathed (“as though this really counts,” Ondolemar had snorted disdainfully as he cleaned himself in the cold water of the washbasin). By midday, however, the weather had become nasty; a downright blizzard was coming down on the pair of elves as they tried to make their way along the road.

“Do you know how much farther it is?” Ondolemar called over the howling wind at one point. They were huddled close together for warmth, but Ryndoril still barely heard him.

“No idea,” Ryndoril shouted back. “We should just try to find somewhere to wait out the storm!”

That proved difficult, however; it wasn’t long before they lost sight of the road entirely in the storm, and aside from an odd tree or boulder here and there, there was nothing to keep them out of the snow. They pressed on, not knowing what else to do; Ryndoril was starting to get worried, because he felt like they should have arrived in Winterhold by now. He hoped they hadn’t gotten lost in the storm.

Finally, though, they came across what seemed to be a small recess in the mountains. Ryndoril had no idea where they were, or even if they were still on the road, but this small spot offered a decent shelter from the elements. It was no full cave by any stretch of the imagination, but it pressed back into the rock far enough to huddle out of the snow, and the wind wasn’t blowing on them there.

“Thank the gods,” Ondolemar panted. It was hard, struggling through the snow and the elements, and he was exhausted. “I didn’t anticipate a snowstorm.”

“Neither did I,” Ryndoril said, his teeth chattering. He’d brought a cloak, knowing it would be cold, but even it wasn’t helping that much at this point.

“Sit down,” Ondolemar said at once, motioning to the dry ground near the back of the rock’s impression. “I’ll start a fire.”

“We don’t have any wood,” Ryndoril informed him.

“I do,” Ondolemar said. “I purchased it from the inn before we left.”

“Good thinking,” Ryndoril chattered.

“It was an impulse that I chose to follow,” Ondolemar shrugged, going through his pack. “It isn’t much, but it ought to warm you.”

“Why aren’t _you_ frozen solid?” Ryndoril wanted to know.

“My robes,” Ondolemar explained. “They are enchanted against the cold, along with other protective spells. Even then, however, I am feeling it more than I typically do.”

“Sounds nice,” Ryndoril said, clutching his cloak more tightly around him.

“Well, I am very sorry that I have no extra Thalmor robes to offer you,” Ondolemar smirked, setting up the few logs he had. A quick jet of flame from his hand set them on fire.

“You could share,” Ryndoril suggested, grinning though his teeth still chattered.

“And I intend to,” Ondolemar chuckled, pulling Ryndoril to his feet and settling him closer to the fire. “Take that soaked cloak off, and your armor,” he added, helping the Bosmer; he laid the wet clothing near the fire to dry it.

“Thank you,” Ryndoril breathed, the warmth of the fire already helping him. “Nice to have a mage along on this trip.”

“We mages tend to be very handy overall, yes,” Ondolemar nodded, unfastening his own robes. Once he’d done that, he pulled Ryndoril to him, cradling the Bosmer against his bare chest and wrapping the robes back around them as best he could.

“Oh, gods,” Ryndoril groaned as the heat from Ondolemar spread through him. “You weren’t kidding. You _did_ stay warm.”

“And you are far colder than I expected,” Ondolemar frowned, squeezing the Bosmer tightly. “Divines, Ryn.”

“Ah, I’m alright,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head as his shivering began to subside. “You know, you’re almost like a Nord, staying so warm like this.”

“Excuse me?” Ondolemar asked, highly affronted at the comparison.

“Nords are naturally warm,” Ryndoril laughed. “I didn’t mean anything rude by it, I swear.”

“And just how many Nords have you been cuddling with in snowstorms?” Ondolemar demanded.

“None,” Ryndoril chuckled. “Though there was that one time with the Companions…” he trailed off. Ondolemar stared down at the Bosmer in disbelief before realizing he was joking.

“You are determined to anger me tonight, aren’t you, insolent elf?” Ondolemar said.

“Oh, come on,” Ryndoril teased. “You know I prefer you over any Nord, no matter how warm they are.”

“I should certainly think so,” Ondolemar snorted. He rubbed the Bosmer’s arms, trying his best to warm him. “I hope we didn’t get far from the road.”

“Me, too,” Ryndoril sighed, melting into the Altmer’s embrace. “I’ve never gotten into a snowstorm like this one.”

“I can’t even tell if it’s still daylight,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head.

“We’ll know when it clears up a bit,” Ryndoril said. “In any case…I’m not in a hurry to get anywhere.”

“You will be when that firewood runs out,” Ondolemar said. Ryndoril laughed tiredly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll still have you.” Ondolemar couldn’t help but smile at the Bosmer’s kind, if impractical, thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

When the storm cleared, it was quite dark out; by the position of the moon, Ryndoril figured it to be very early morning. He’d already slept a little – he couldn’t seem to help himself, so warm and comfortable in the Altmer’s arms. Now he sat as a lookout, letting Ondolemar get a bit of sleep as well.

Nothing disturbed the peaceful night, and he rather thought all the living creatures had hidden away from the nasty storm, now content to stay there for a while. He was glad of it, for it meant he didn’t have to worry about defending them.

Though he was supposed to be on watch, he couldn’t help sneaking occasional glances at the Altmer lying asleep in the low firelight. He loved to simply be allowed to look at him, Ondolemar’s face undisturbed by waking worries or concerns. Ryndoril had noticed an interesting change in the Thalmor Commander as they traveled – he seemed _happier_. He always seemed pleased when Ryndoril was around, of course, but this was something different. Something that simply radiated from him, something that made Ryndoril terribly happy, too.

It was obvious the mer was enjoying being away from the confines of Markarth and the Keep, and Ryndoril hoped he might be able to make this happen again someday. Ondolemar was proving to be a capable traveling companion; having brought firewood, for instance, and his assistance killing anything that had attacked them. It could not have been clearer that the Commander was meant to be doing this, to be out in the world traveling it instead of stuck in a musty old Keep all the time.

Eventually the sun began to rise, and with the light now giving them a way to figure out where they were, Ryndoril decided they ought to head out. He shook Ondolemar awake gently.

“Time to go, love,” Ryndoril said softly.

“Nnnn,” Ondolemar protested crankily, moving away from Ryndoril’s touch. The Bosmer chuckled.

“Come on,” he said, running his fingers through Ondolemar’s hair. “You can sleep better once we get to Winterhold. I promise.”

“Damn you, Bosmer,” Ondolemar muttered, opening his groggy eyes and sitting up. “Only for you.”

“I know,” Ryndoril grinned. “Come on, sleepy.” They gathered up their things, Ondolemar throwing a bit of snow onto the fire to ensure it was out, and made their way out of their small sheltered spot.

“Oh,” Ondolemar said, too surprised to say much else.

“Well, damn,” Ryndoril muttered, looking around. “This…isn’t good.”

“I presume the road to Winterhold is not nearby,” Ondolemar said dryly. They were clearly near the top of a mountain, and nothing else seemed to be in sight besides untouched snow – _everywhere_.

“No,” Ryndoril sighed. “Gods. How did we get up here?”

“I don’t know,” Ondolemar said. He supposed the struggle of getting through the snow masked the struggle of climbing the mountain. “This looks almost like a path, though,” he added, indicating the level stretch of unblemished snow in front of him. “Perhaps it will take us somewhere.”

“I hope so,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head in annoyance. He didn’t often get lost like this, and now he had to go and do it with Ondolemar, making himself look like an idiot. “I’m sorry about this.”

“What, the storm?” Ondolemar asked. “You can hardly control the weather.”

“Getting us lost,” Ryndoril said, his ears reddening. “I’m not usually a bad navigator.”

“Ryn, you can’t blame yourself for this,” Ondolemar said as they walked on. “I typically don’t get lost, either, and yet here we are.” Ryndoril relaxed a little at the Altmer’s understanding.

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said quietly. He was grateful, at least, that Ondolemar wasn’t angry with him. After a while of walking, something caught Ondolemar’s eye, and he paused.

“Look,” he said, pointing. Ryndoril put a hand on his bow automatically, looking where Ondolemar indicated; he saw an odd structure peeking out from around the mountain.

“Maybe a statue?” Ryndoril contemplated, staring hard at it. He couldn’t see much besides the fact that it didn’t seem to be natural or part of the mountain.

“Perhaps,” Ondolemar said. “In any case, it means we are not the only ones to have come up here. There could be someone there.”

“And they’re just as likely to be hostile as helpful,” Ryndoril said, pulling his bow off his back and holding it at his side, ready to fire if needed.

“Indeed,” Ondolemar agreed. “Well, what is life without a bit of adventure?” Ryndoril laughed.

“Then let’s go,” Ryndoril said.

As they approached the strange-looking structure, it began to take shape – soon enough, they could see it was a statue of a woman.

“A divine?” Ryndoril wondered aloud. “I haven’t seen any that look like that.”

“Or a Daedra,” Ondolemar frowned.

“Oh,” Ryndoril said. “It does look a little like Nocturnal, now that you mention it.”

“She is holding a crescent moon,” Ondolemar said, pointing at the one hand. “There seems to be something missing from the other.”

“Hmm,” Ryndoril mused. Perhaps not Nocturnal, then. “I don’t know. It looks like a shrine; surely there’s a plaque.”

“And a follower,” Ondolemar whispered, stopping suddenly and putting a hand on Ryndoril’s shoulder. “Look.” Ryndoril looked at the base of the statue and did indeed see a robed figure, hands raised in prayer to the statue. A makeshift camp nearby told them this devotee lived there.

“Should we go up to them?” Ryndoril asked.

“Cautiously,” Ondolemar said. “If nothing else, they may be able to tell us how to get to Winterhold from here. Just be prepared for an attack.”

“Of course,” Ryndoril agreed. “Come on, then.” They slowly approached the statue, climbing the steps that led up to where the praying devotee was standing. As they walked nearer the person in robes, the devotee spoke without even moving from their stance.

“Azura has seen your coming, traveler,” she said; it was very obviously the voice of a female Dunmer. She didn’t seem to want to attack them, though they both remained on alert. “It was not curiosity, but fate that has led you here.”

“Uh, actually it was getting lost in a snowstorm,” Ryndoril said. The Dunmer turned to look at him, dropping her arms to her sides.

“And you think that was not intentional on Azura’s part?” Her fierce red eyes pierced him.

“Look, either way, we’d really just like to get off this mountain,” Ryndoril said. “Can you tell us how to get to Winterhold?” She eyed him again for a long moment.

“Listen, Daedra worshipper,” Ondolemar said impatiently, “just tell us how to get out of here.”

“As I said,” the Dunmer replied ignoring Ondolemar’s rudeness, “Azura has seen your coming. It has been foretold. You have come here to aid her.”

“Really, I haven’t,” Ryndoril said. He didn’t really want anything to do with any more Daedric princes. “Tell Azura to find someone else.”

“You have been chosen to be her champion,” the Dunmer said impatiently. “And you will do as Azura bids. I know it is unexpected, but do not worry. It will all unfold as she has predicted.”

“Fine,” Ryndoril sighed, just wanting to move on. “What does Azura want from me?”

“Ryndoril, you cannot possibly – “ Ondolemar started angrily, but the Dunmer ignored him, speaking over him. She seemed to only have eyes for Ryndoril.

“You must go to a fortress, endangered by water yet untouched by it. Inside, you will find an elven mage who can turn the brightest star black as night. It is cryptic, I know, but Azura’s signs are never wrong. I believe the fortress may refer to Winterhold. Ask if they know this elven enchanter,” the Dunmer said firmly.

“Wonderful,” Ryndoril said. “And if you can just point us on the right path _to_ Winterhold, I would be more than happy to do that.”

“Of course,” the Dunmer said, seeming pleased that Ryndoril had agreed to do as she asked. “At the bottom of these stairs, you will find a path. Turn right, and follow it down the mountain. You will come out just outside the town.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said, trying to hold onto his patience. He left with Ondolemar then, neither speaking until well out of hearing distance of the Dunmer.

“You can’t honestly intend to do as she said,” Ondolemar finally said. “Another Daedra, Ryn?”

“I know,” Ryndoril sighed. “But it got her to give us directions, didn’t it?”

“Blasted Daedra-worshipping Dunmer,” Ondolemar sneered. “I should have known it would be one of them.”

“You don’t like the Dunmer?” Ryndoril smirked.

“As a general rule, no,” Ondolemar snorted. “There are some I don’t mind, but the race itself has always been against the Dominion, and don’t get me started on their reverence of Daedra. Ridiculous.”

“Well, lots of people worship Daedra, not just the Dunmer,” Ryndoril said fairly.

“And they’re just as bad,” Ondolemar said. “The Daedra care nothing for any of us; we are but pawns they are free to use, praise and punish as they see fit.”

“I’m starting to learn that,” Ryndoril said dryly. “You think that Dunmer was right about Azura choosing me?”

“Does it matter?” Ondolemar said. “Don’t involve yourself in this, Ryn. It’s ridiculous; let someone else do it.”

“Ah, I guess you’re right,” Ryndoril agreed. “Sanguine gave me enough Daedric fun for a couple of lifetimes. But we’re going to Winterhold anyway – I might see if I can find out about this elven mage.”

“Likely someone at the College,” Ondolemar said. “And I think it best you don’t go up there with me.”

“Why not?” Ryndoril asked curiously.

“Those at the College are…a bit…full of themselves,” Ondolemar said carefully. “You are not a mage, and you know very little magic; you would not fit with them.”

“Full of themselves, huh?” Ryndoril smirked. “Like a certain Altmer I know?”

“Don’t be rude,” Ondolemar said, making a face. “I am simply trying to look out for you.” Ryndoril laughed.

“I know. I appreciate it. Well, I’ll stay at the inn while you go up to the college then. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar nodded. “I don’t know how long we’ll need to be here, but staying at the inn would be the best choice.”

“I can ask around there, at least,” Ryndoril said. “I mean, I _am_ a little curious now.”

“Of course you are,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head; he would’ve expected nothing else from the adventurous Bosmer. With amusement he realized it reminded him a little of his old friend Ancano, the mage he was going to see – Ancano had been a curious one as well. “Well, you can see what you might find out, but I doubt anyone will tell you much. They don’t care for the mages in Winterhold.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ryndoril nodded, then yawned. “At any rate, I think I’ll take a nap before I do anything at all.”

“Agreed,” Ondolemar said, trying to suppress his own yawn after Ryndoril’s. “That bit of sleep last night was _not_ enough.”

“Well, we’ll rest together,” Ryndoril said happily. “And then you can go sort out your business. You have no idea what this mer wants?”

“No,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “My note from the Ambassador simply said that Ancano had requested my presence. If it had anything to do with finding something important at the College, he would have just told Elenwen himself, so…”

“Seems odd,” Ryndoril frowned. “You don’t think there’ll be…trouble of any kind?”

“No,” Ondolemar said at once. “I’ve known Ancano since we were both young. I…I trust him.” His voice became soft at the end, and his face reddened slightly. Ryndoril, of course, noticed.

“Something special about this Ancano?” Ryndoril smirked slyly.

“Of course not,” Ondolemar said at once, looking away from the Bosmer and pulling the hood of his Thalmor robes more fully over his face. “We should hurry.”

“Hey, hey,” Ryndoril chuckled, reaching over to squeeze the Altmer’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m only curious. I don’t mean to tease you.” Ondolemar was quiet for a while longer, still not looking at the Bosmer, and finally Ryndoril let go of him.

“I was…rather interested in him,” Ondolemar confessed quietly after some time. “Years ago.”

“What happened?” Ryndoril asked kindly.

“He was interested in females,” Ondolemar replied, trying to sound casual about it though it still stung to think about. “As we are meant to be.”

“He rejected you?” Ryndoril said sympathetically.

“Not exactly,” Ondolemar said. “I never said anything. It would have been suicide. But…he was quite popular with the females, anyway.” Gods knew he’d watched the mer sneak off with any number of the ladies of Alinor, and even a few that weren’t Altmer.

“I’m sorry,” Ryndoril said, taking the Altmer’s hand and squeezing it. 

“It’s fine,” Ondolemar said quickly, shaking himself out of it. “We remained good friends.”

“Good,” Ryndoril smiled. He was mildly amused; he knew that such a conversation, with roles reversed, would have Ondolemar irate with jealousy. Ryndoril _was_ a little jealous, he had to admit, but he felt more sympathy for the younger Ondolemar than jealousy over the current one.

They walked along quietly for a while longer, Ryndoril still holding onto Ondolemar’s hand. They were so far off any true road or real path that he didn’t think it could cause any trouble; obviously Ondolemar was of the same mind for he didn’t pull away. It was nice, Ryndoril thought, walking along like this, hand in hand. He wished they could do it more often, though he knew it could never happen.

A sudden roar drew the attention of them both; they jerked apart as Ondolemar summoned his magic and Ryndoril reached for his bow in the same motion.

“There,” Ryndoril said, pointing as he knocked an arrow. “Frost troll.”

“Damn,” Ondolemar said grimly. Those beasts were difficult to fight, and it would never let them go by unprovoked. Ryndoril released his arrow, nocking another before the first even hit its mark. The frost troll shifted at the last second, causing the arrow to hit its shoulder rather than its neck, and it roared in anger, lumbering toward them.

Ondolemar shot several fireballs in a row at the beast; they were particularly weak to fire, he knew. He saw Ryn constantly moving, trying to get a better angle for his arrows, shooting continuously. The hide of the creature was notoriously hard to penetrate, and though the Bosmer tried, he wasn’t getting the hits he needed. After several moments, the troll seemed to decide Ondolemar and his fire were more trouble than they were worth, and swiftly made its way toward Ryndoril instead.

Ondolemar chased after it, though his power was reduced a bit by having to aim more carefully so he didn’t hit Ryndoril. The Bosmer was backing away, still firing the arrows. The next second, before Ondolemar could really see what had happened, the Bosmer was flat on the ground with his bow having flown a few feet from his grasp.

“Ryn!” Ondolemar cried fearfully. He shot a jet of lightning at the troll now, hoping it would distract the creature, but the troll seemed to barely notice. Ondolemar’s heart was in his throat as he watched the troll swipe at the Bosmer, too far away to do anything besides send more flame toward it. Ryndoril’s cry of pain tore at him, but he couldn’t see what had happened; the troll itself was blocking his view now. A moment later, though, the beast was roaring in pain; a final fireball from Ondolemar had it keeling over, and he reached it the next moment to drive his own dagger into its throat.

He turned to Ryndoril then to see the Bosmer still lying on the ground, clutching his side while blood dripped from his face.

“Ryndoril!” Ondolemar said anxiously, hurrying to the Bosmer and kneeling next to him. “What happened?”

“Just got my head,” Ryndoril wheezed. “And a blow to the ribs. Just let me get a potion…”

“Lie still,” Ondolemar commanded at once, searching the Bosmer’s head for the wound causing all the blood. There was so much it was difficult to identify where it was coming from. Finally he located it, however, and set to healing him at once. “What happened? I thought you had it.”

“I did,” Ryndoril breathed painfully. His ribs were killing him after the blow the troll had dealt him, though his head was feeling better quickly with Ondolemar’s healing. “I tripped over a gods-damned snowdrift. Ahh,” he finished with a groan; even just talking made it hurt worse.

“Don’t talk right now,” Ondolemar said soothingly, trying to wipe some of the blood off the Bosmer’s face with his gloves. “Just hold still, I’ll fix it.” Ryndoril nodded slightly, and Ondolemar wrenched the Bosmer’s armor open at the front to allow better access for healing. Placing his hands over the Bosmer’s chest, he focused on a strong healing spell. A moment later, the Bosmer took in a deep breath without wincing.

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril breathed. “Better than a healing potion.”

“Are you alright?” Ondolemar asked then, finally pulling away. “Is there anywhere else?”

“I’m fine,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. “Thanks to you.”

“Praise Auri-El,” Ondolemar murmured, getting to his feet. He’d been truly scared for the Bosmer; only now that he seemed alright could Ondolemar breathe easily. “Rest a moment.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril agreed, rummaging in his pouch. Ondolemar retrieved the mer’s bow, bringing it back as Ryndoril downed a potion in a green bottle; an energizing draught.

“Here,” Ondolemar said, still a little on edge as he set the bow in front of Ryndoril. Ryndoril swallowed his potion and smiled at Ondolemar more fully now.

“You don’t need to be so worried,” he said reassuringly. “I’m fine. I’ve gotten myself into worse scrapes than that before.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Ondolemar asked, shaking his head. He stood nearby, his senses on high alert for any more danger, until Ryndoril got to his feet again.

“Thanks, though,” Ryndoril said, shouldering his bow and squeezing Ondolemar’s hand. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly. “Are you alright to keep going?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, though he was feeling quite exhausted now. “Let’s go.” The rest of their trip was uneventful, though it started to snow again toward the base of the mountain. By then, however, they could see the torchlights of the city; it was turning toward dusk, but they had found their destination.

“I believe I shall postpone my trip to the college until morning,” Ondolemar said. He was having trouble staying upright, he was so tired.

“Good,” Ryndoril nodded, just as exhausted. “Thank gods. There’s the inn.” The two hurried inside out of the snow, both grateful for the warmth of the roaring fire.

“Welcome to the Frozen Hearth,” a woman said, nodding at them. “You look tired. We have warm beds, hot food, and cold mead.”

“The bed and the food will be fine,” Ryndoril said, and Ondolemar handed over a bit of gold before Ryndoril could.

“Room’s right in there,” the woman said, nodding her head toward an open door. “Only got the one.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Ondolemar said.

“You want to eat in your room?” the woman asked as the two headed straight for it.

“If you’d be so kind as to serve us in there, yes,” Ryndoril said. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” the woman nodded. “I’ll bring it right in.”

“Ondolemar?” a voice interrupted, and both of the mer turned as one, anxious over who knew the Altmer’s name.

“Nelacar?” Ondolemar asked, sounding surprised.

“I thought I heard your voice,” Nelacar said, looking pleasantly surprised as he approached them. “Whatever brings you to this dreary town?”

“Business at the College,” Ondolemar replied. “I thought you were still up there?”

“Ah…bit of a long story there,” Nelacar said evasively. “Who is your friend?”

“This is Ryndoril,” Ondolemar introduced the Bosmer. “He is a mercenary that I have hired to accompany me on the trek across Skyrim. Dangerous time to travel, you know.”

“Especially as the Justiciar Commander,” Nelacar nodded. “Fair enough, though it looks as though he’s the one who was bloodied.”

“I presume you’re familiar with frost trolls?” Ondolemar said dryly, and Nelacar made a face.

“Indeed I am, my friend. It’s been a long time,” he added. “Would you care to join me for a drink?”

“Not tonight, Nelacar,” Ondolemar said wearily. “It has been a longer journey than expected, and I am in need of rest.”

“Understood,” Nelacar said in a friendly way. “Perhaps before you leave, then. You are staying here?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar said. “I will be traveling to the College in the morning.”

“Good luck to you,” Nelacar said. “And your companion – Ryndoril, you said?” Ondolemar nodded. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, surprised but pleased that the Altmer was kind enough to ask. “My…employer…is pretty good at healing magic.” Ondolemar reddened slightly, and Nelacar smirked.

“Well, good,” Nelacar said. “I’ll see you later, then, Ondolemar.”

“Good evening, Nelacar,” Ondolemar nodded, stumbling into the rented room after Ryndoril.

“He seemed nice,” Ryndoril commented, tossing down his pack.

“Another old friend,” Ondolemar said. “Though I suppose I should say acquaintance; we were only close when I was very young, before I joined the Dominion.”

“So do all the Altmer in Skyrim know each other?” Ryndoril grinned, starting to undo his armor.

“Not all, no,” Ondolemar said with a small smile. “But a fair number of us who have been sent here are near enough in age and our families close enough in rank that we knew each other as young ones.”

“Two hot bowls of stew,” the woman from the inn interrupted, bringing in a tray. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“No, that will be all,” Ondolemar said at once.

“Thanks,” Ryndoril added. The woman nodded at them before heading out of the room, shutting the door. Ryndoril pulled his armor off then, and Ondolemar quickly followed with his robes. Ryndoril stood at the washbasin in the corner to scrub the blood from his face; he’d worry about his armor in the morning.

“I’m starving,” Ondolemar confessed, not even bothering to change into a spare tunic before grabbing his stew and sitting on the bed

“Me, too,” Ryndoril agreed, following Ondolemar’s lead. “Hey. Only one bed.”

“Shame, that,” Ondolemar smirked between bites. The room in Dawnstar had two small beds just as Morthal had, and Ondolemar was quite tired of sleeping apart from the Bosmer. “Hmm. Well, at least this isn’t half bad.”

“Or we’re both just that hungry,” Ryndoril chuckled, wolfing down his stew as well. Once their bellies were full, though, neither could hold back their exhaustion any longer. Both crawled into the bed, Ryndoril snuggling into Ondolemar’s arms. “Gods, you’re still so damn warm.”

“Perhaps you’re just always too cold,” Ondolemar suggested sleepily, holding the Bosmer tightly. After the lack of sleep the night before and the stresses of the day, worrying over Ryndoril and the adrenaline of the fight, he was simply pleased to peacefully embrace the Bosmer.

“And perhaps you’re just a good fit for me,” Ryndoril murmured, kissing Ondolemar’s chin. The Altmer smiled, contented. Perhaps so.


	4. Chapter 4

Ondolemar left after breakfast the next morning, leaving Ryndoril to go explore the small town. He’d only been to Winterhold once before, and it was to stay at the inn while some Thieves Guild business got worked out. Now, though, he had nothing else to do, so he thought he might as well see what Winterhold had to offer.

It wasn’t much.

The people weren’t all that friendly to outsiders, and none of them cared for him asking questions. Finally, the owner of the store, Birna, told him that she didn’t have any solid information but everyone in town was suspicious of the Altmer who lived at the inn. Thanking her, Ryndoril hurried back to The Frozen Hearth – it was once again snowing, and he really didn’t care for the chill.

He spotted Nelacar sitting by the fire, a book in his hand. He looked up when Ryndoril opened the door, smiling in a friendly way at the Bosmer.

“Good morning,” he called.

“Morning,” Ryndoril grinned, heading over to sit in the next chair.

“Picked a bad morning to go wandering about the city,” Nelacar smirked.

“I noticed,” Ryndoril laughed, taking off his cloak and scooting his chair closer to the fire. “But is there a good morning to do it around here?”

“The sun does shine occasionally, yes,” Nelacar nodded. “Has the Commander already left, then?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, already feeling warmer. “I’m not much for magic, so he thought I’d better stay here.”

“A good idea, on the whole,” Nelacar nodded. “Many of my old colleagues were not the most… _accepting_ type.”

“So, you used to study at the College?” Ryndoril asked, trying not to sound pushy.

“I did,” Nelacar said, his ears reddening a bit. “Some time ago.” He turned back to his book, clearly not wanting to continue the conversation.

“Maybe you could help me, then,” Ryndoril pressed, eyeing the Altmer.

“With what?” Nelacar asked warily, glancing up from his book.

“On our way here,” Ryndoril said carefully, “we got a bit lost. We ended up at this statue to Azura – “

“On the mountain?” Nelacar asked, bewildered. “How in Oblivion did you get up there?”

“That blizzard that came through,” Ryndoril said ruefully. “We kept looking for somewhere to wait it out, and somehow ended up on top of the mountain. But…well…at the statue there was this Dunmer priestess.”

“Of Azura,” Nelacar sneered, snapping his book shut and starting to get to his feet. “I don’t do business with Azura’s faithful. Excuse me.”

“No, wait!” Ryndoril said, reaching out and grabbing Nelacar’s arm. “Please – I’m not a worshipper of Azura, I swear. I just…was…curious.”

“Curiosity about Daedric princes will lead to your ruin,” Nelacar said shortly. “I advise you not to get involved.” He hadn’t pulled away from Ryndoril yet.

“I know,” Ryndoril said with a wry grin. “ _Dear_ Sanguine already got a hold of me once. But this priestess told me to look for an elven enchanter who dealt with stars,” he added, “and if you used to be at the College, maybe you would know who – “

“I don’t,” Nelacar snapped, wrenching his arm out of Ryndoril’s grasp. “Now if you will excuse me – “

“Please?” Ryndoril interrupted, giving his best pleading look. “This priestess told me I’m supposed to be Azura’s champion or some nonsense like that, and I just want to know what she was going on about.” Nelacar paused, gazing warily at the wood elf. He did seem to be honest, and quite earnest as well. If the damn Daedra had already picked him…well, perhaps he _could_ give the poor elf a bit of help.

“Alright,” Nelacar sighed, sitting back down. The Bosmer grinned, pleased, making Nelacar shake his head resignedly. He wondered if the elf got his way often. “What do you know about soul gems?”

“Soul gems?” Ryndoril asked blankly. “I – nothing, really. They’re used in enchanting, aren’t they?” He thought that’s what Ondolemar had said once.

“Precisely,” Nelacar nodded. “The thing is, the gem is always consumed,” he added. “They’re frail. Except for one. Azura’s Star.”

“Ah,” Ryndoril said, understanding beginning to dawn on him.

“It’s a Daedric artifact that allows any number of souls to pass through it,” Nelacar explained. “Some of us…from the College…were working to find out how. See if we could unravel the mystery of a reusable soul gem. I was working under a mage named Malyn Varen then. If only we knew what he was planning,” he sighed.

“What did he do?” Ryndoril asked with interest.

“Malyn wanted to alter the star,” Nelacar replied. “He was dying…disease. He thought he could put his own soul inside – become immortal.” Nelacar paused a moment, brooding. “It drove him mad. Students started dying. Eventually, the College exiled him,” Nelacar continued. “He took a few loyal disciples and disappeared.”

“Were you one of them?” Ryndoril wanted to know.

“No,” Nelacar said. “But as I was…involved…it seemed best if I leave the College anyway.”

“Do you know where Malyn Varen and his disciples went?” Ryndoril asked.

“I do,” Nelacar said heavily. “An old ruin not far south of here by the name of Scorm’s Refuge.”

“I presume Azura decided I’m going to go get this blasted star for her, then,” Ryndoril frowned.

“You dislike her plan, I take it?” Nelacar asked.

“I don’t like the Daedra messing with me,” Ryndoril said.

“Well, I cannot say it is any better off in the hands of Malyn Varen than those of Azura,” Nelacar said. “And I don’t say that lightly. I despise the Daedra.”

“So does Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said.

“Well, it is somewhat of an unfortunate side-effect of the Oblivion Crisis,” Nelacar said dryly. “Neither of us were alive for it, but that doesn’t keep us from hearing of it all our lives.”

“Understandable,” Ryndoril said. “Well, if what I’ve learned about Daedric princes so far means anything, Azura’s not going to leave me alone until I get this damn thing of hers.”

“If you do manage to find it,” Nelacar said, a little hesitant, “bring it here to me. Before going to Azura.”

“You think that’s wise?” Ryndoril asked.

“I think the Daedra are _not_ wise,” Nelacar said. “And I may be able to work that in our favor.”

“Alright,” Ryndoril said. “So, this ruin,” he added. “Where did you say it was?”

“You have a map?” Nelacar asked. Ryndoril pulled out his map, and Nelacar marked a spot on it not very far south of Winterhold itself. “Other side of the mountain. Three hours’ journey, I would say.”

“In good weather,” Ryndoril corrected.

“Right,” Nelacar nodded. “It’s usually at least a few days between the larger storms, though.”

“You’re saying I should go now?” Ryndoril asked, surprised. Nelacar shrugged.

“Just thought I would share the information,” Nelacar said. “I don’t mind helping those who aren’t allies of the Daedra.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Ryndoril said. “But I can’t just leave without telling the Commander.”

“Yes, he would be the type to make you wait on him,” Nelacar nodded.

“He isn’t _making_ me,” Ryndoril protested, annoyed on Ondolemar’s behalf at the suggestion. “I just think it would be rude.”

“Suit yourself,” Nelacar shrugged. “You’ll find me here at the inn, whenever you decide to go after it.” Without so much as a further goodbye, Nelacar got up and walked away.

What a strange mer, Ryndoril thought. So against the whole idea at first, and now it almost sounded like he _wanted_ Ryndoril to go after this Star. Well, it didn’t matter at the moment; he wasn’t going to go anywhere until Ondolemar came back. The Bosmer stayed by the fire, letting it warm him and thinking over everything Nelacar had told him.

Not long after, however, the door to the inn slammed open; a very angry Justiciar Commander stormed through it, slamming it shut again and heading immediately for their room without looking around. Wondering what could have possibly happened, Ryndoril hurried after him. He walked in just as Ondolemar’s second boot flew off his foot, hitting the opposite wall with a loud ‘thud’.

“Ondolemar?” Ryndoril asked, shutting the door quickly behind him. The Altmer turned around, fury in his eyes, but it dimmed slightly as he saw Ryndoril. “What’s wrong?”

“That damnable College,” Ondolemar spat, now tearing his gloves off his hands. “I’ve spent nearly all this time simply trying to get _in_ there, and then Ancano told me he was _busy_ and to come back _later_!”

“What?” Ryndoril asked, surprised. “Didn’t he ask for you to come in the first place?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar growled. “He was acting utterly strange, and not at all like I recall him. And then this idiotic – this – _apprentice_ ,” he spat, “came over to me and started trying to come onto me! Can you believe that?”

“Frankly, yes,” Ryndoril smirked, going over to the Altmer. “I can’t blame him. Him?”

“Her,” Ondolemar snorted angrily. “ _Nirya_. Not that it makes it any better!”

“I know, love,” Ryndoril said kindly, wrapping his arms around Ondolemar and simply hugging him. “I’m sorry you had such a frustrating morning.” He felt the Altmer relax in his embrace, letting out a breath.

“Divines, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head as his own arms enveloped the Bosmer. “What would I do if you weren’t here waiting for me?”

“Probably set the inn on fire,” Ryndoril smirked. Ondolemar breathed out a short laugh, kissing the top of the Bosmer’s head.

“Then thank the Divines you _were_ here,” Ondolemar said.

“Sit down and relax,” Ryndoril suggested, pulling back from the Altmer and heading over to the bed.

“A good idea,” Ondolemar said, exchanging his Thalmor robes for his tunic. He didn’t plan on leaving the inn again that day, and so he might as well be comfortable, uniform or not!

“Why wouldn’t they let you in?” Ryndoril asked.

“They seem to have a problem with Ancano being there at all,” Ondolemar said. “They’re rather angry about it, and so another Thalmor trying to gain entrance was clearly enough to enrage them. The Arch-Mage himself finally stepped in, telling them I must be allowed to see my associate.”

“And then Ancano wouldn’t even talk to you?” Ryndoril continued, leaning into Ondolemar. The Altmer put his arm around the elf without thinking about it.

“No,” Ondolemar said, frustrated. “He barely looked at me, told me he was very busy at the moment, and I would have to come back later. That’s all he kept saying.”

“How strange,” Ryndoril said, taking the Altmer’s hand. “I’m sorry it went so badly for you. Do you still want to stay?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar sighed. “I came all the way here, I may as well try again.”

“Then we’ll stay,” Ryndoril said kindly. “Anyway, I might have something else to do.”

“Oh?” Ondolemar said, arching an eyebrow. “We just arrived, and you already have somewhere to go?”

“Well, I _am_ an adventurer,” Ryndoril grinned. “Actually, I learned a little about what the priestess was talking about.”

“Did you?” Ondolemar said, sounding faintly surprised.

“Your friend, Nelacar,” Ryndoril said. “Turns out he was the mage the priestess referred to.”

“Hmm,” Ondolemar frowned. “Odd.”

Ryndoril explained everything Nelacar had told him, including the nearby location of the place the mage had run to.

“And now you want to run off and look,” Ondolemar said, not surprised in the least. “I don’t like the idea of you going to face soul-obsessed mages by yourself.”

“Neither do I,” Ryndoril admitted. “If you’ve got to wait to see Ancano, though – you could come with me.”

“Ryn, I’m here for business,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “I can’t just leave to go on some quest with you.”

“Sure you could,” Ryndoril said. “You aren’t attending to your ‘business’ at the moment anyway. Why not?”

“Because – it’s not – that’s not why I’m here,” Ondolemar said, realizing it was quite a weak argument. Why _couldn’t_ he go with the Bosmer? Why _couldn’t_ he have a bit of fun?

“You’re being held up anyway,” Ryndoril pointed out, pushing a little as he could sense the Altmer was bending. “What else are you going to do, sit around the inn?” Ondolemar thought this over. He couldn’t come up with an argument for Ryndoril’s logic; he couldn’t do what he’d come for until Ancano would see him, and all he had to go on for that was ‘later’. If this place was so nearby…surely it wouldn’t make much of a difference if he went with Ryndoril instead of sitting here at the Frozen Hearth, waiting.

In any case, the Ambassador couldn’t control every bit of his life! She couldn’t tell him what he had to do while waiting for something! At the thought of the Ambassador, a desire to be reckless and impulsive came very strongly over Ondolemar.

“You’re right, Ryndoril,” Ondolemar said at once. “I _could_ come with you, and assist you in dealing with these rogue mages.” Ryndoril’s face split into a wide grin.

“Really?” he asked. “You mean it?”

“Yes, I do,” Ondolemar said. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” Ryndoril was shocked – the mer was never so impulsive.

“Is there a reason to wait?” Ondolemar asked, feeling almost _excited_ at the idea of leaving, going on a real adventure with the Bosmer instead of simply traveling across the country. So many times, for so many days, he’d sat in the Keep, or walked around Markarth, wondering what Ryndoril was doing. Whether he was safe. Whether he was alive. Now he had the opportunity to _join_ him!

“No, not really,” Ryndoril said. It was barely midday – there was plenty of time for them to go. “Let me get some food from the innkeeper.” He got to his feet, seeing that Ondolemar was wearing a bit of a brooding look. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” Ondolemar said decisively. He got to his feet, swiftly changing back into his robes – clearly, it had been silly to take them off. Ryndoril simply shook his head and went out to the counter, talking to the innkeeper.

Perhaps this was a bit crazy, Ondolemar told himself; but still, there was no reason they couldn’t simply go ahead and do this. He had to admit, though, he was just a little bit fearful of the Ambassador finding out about it. She wouldn’t be pleased, and when the Ambassador was displeased, so was everyone else.

He wouldn’t let that stop him, though; he was going to go with Ryndoril, and they were going to see this quest through together.

*****

It took less time to get to the old ruin than Nelacar had said, and there had been little trouble along the road. They arrived at Scorm’s Refuge feeling quite fresh.

“You ever been through an old ruin like this?” Ryndoril asked quietly as they stood outside, preparing to go in.

“Actually, no,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. Ryndoril grinned.

“Well, I’ve been through loads. Not usually facing mages, though. You’ll want to watch out for traps – “

“ _Those_ I’ve dealt with,” Ondolemar said grimly.

“Then you’ll know what to look for,” Ryndoril nodded. “Good. Keep out of their way.”

“And keep an eye out for runes,” Ondolemar said. “I don’t know whether you’ve come across those.”

“Runes?” Ryndoril asked, cocking his head. Ondolemar glanced around, then motioned Ryndoril off to the side. He concentrated hard, clearly summoning a great deal of magical energy; it burst forth from his hands silently a moment later, leaving a shimmering mark on the ground. “Ah,” he said, eyeing the thing. He’d never seen anything like that. “What’s it do?”

“Come here,” Ondolemar said, pulling Ryndoril back away. “Now shoot it with an arrow.” Ryndoril hit the rune directly in the middle; shards of ice shot in every direction in a huge blast.

“I see,” Ryndoril said, lowering his bow and staring in surprise. “Well. I’m glad I didn’t happen upon one of those.”

“There are two others,” Ondolemar said. “Fire, which are orange, and shock, which are purple. If you step on them at all, you _will_ trigger them, and you _will_ be hurt. They are a specialty of mages.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said gratefully. He was certainly glad for this bit of information; having never come across one before, he wasn’t sure he would have thought anything of a strange pattern on the ground like that. “Anything else mages are good for?”

“Necromancy,” Ondolemar said, wrinkling his nose. “Some of the better ones can paralyze others, but it is not a skill very many possess.”

“Can you?”

“Of course,” Ondolemar replied, disgruntled. “My magic rivals the best of the mer, I’ll have you know.” Ryndoril grinned; so easily thrown off, this mer.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said loyally. “Alright. Traps, runes, necromancers, paralysis. Stay quiet, attack silently when possible. That it?”

“Sounds good to me,” Ondolemar nodded. “Let’s go.” Ryndoril noticed a spark of pure excitement in the Altmer’s eyes; it was easy to tell this is what he’d rather spend his time doing. At that, the two set off into the ruins, ready to fight.

The ruins proved to be quite easy to get through, with a skilled archer and mage. Those that Ryndoril did not manage to kill with one arrow were taken out before they knew what happened by Ondolemar’s formidable magic.

Just before a heavy door, the two paused to breathe for a moment; they hadn’t really been inside the place all that long, so they felt there was no trouble with taking a short break. They shared some of their supply of water, each taking a few bites of bread and Ryndoril adding a couple slices of dried venison.

“You shoot well,” Ondolemar praised Ryndoril. “I’ve rarely seen your skill with a bow.”

“And I’ve never seen your skill with magic,” Ryndoril grinned. “You’re amazing, Ondolemar.” The Altmer looked quite smug at that. “You definitely made this easier than I expected. Wish you had been with us at Morvunskar.”

“As do I,” Ondolemar snorted. “The very idea of you fighting those mages on your own. Madness.”

“I know you don’t think much of the Nords, but I wasn’t alone,” Ryndoril reminded him.

“I know, I know,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “I meant without the aid of magic. But your point is heard.” Ryndoril took a last drink from their water flask, putting it away.

“Ready to move on?” he asked.

“Of course,” Ondolemar said, a rather eager grin on his face. Ryndoril was really enjoying this side of Ondolemar; it was fun to see him so animated. They pushed through the door, eager to carry on.

A short while later, sneaking through a tunnel, they heard voices; as one, they stopped, each glancing immediately at the other as though to shush them. Ryndoril grinned when he realized they’d had the same thought at the same moment; clearly they made an excellent team.

“More souls are needed for the Star,” a rough male voice spoke up. “The last one died before he could be harvested.”

“We can’t take another villager from the surface so soon,” a lilting female voice replied. “I told you to prepare everything properly!”

“We can just sacrifice another disciple. Apprentice Haerlon will be no great waste,” the man suggested casually.

“Yes,” the female said, a slight sneer to her voice. “He’ll do.” Ryndoril was momentarily disgusted by the fact that these two were treating the life of their companion so casually, but then he realized Apprentice Haerlon was more than likely one of the mages he and Ondolemar had already killed. He felt a little sick when he started to think too deeply about this sort of thing, so he pushed it from his mind; it was kill or be killed, after all, and he couldn’t go around feeling guilty about choosing ‘kill’.

The two mer listened hard, waiting for the telltale sign of footsteps walking away from them; when they heard it, Ryndoril rounded the corner with his bow at the ready and immediately struck the male in his uncovered head, dropping him instantly. His next arrow flew past the female mage as she turned around in shock, but Ondolemar’s ice spike was well-aimed through the mage’s chest. She fell at once, unable to even cast a spell to defend herself, and all was quiet.

They continued through the ruin, dealing with another necromancer and a reanimated skeleton, before coming to another heavy door.

“Still good?” Ryndoril checked with Ondolemar.

“Never better,” Ondolemar replied. He was having the time of his life, doing all this with the Bosmer. Ryndoril grinned.

“Then let’s go,” he said, pushing the door open.

It was clear before they had even fully entered the room that they had been spotted; three skeletons were in the midst of being reanimated, and another necromancer was preparing himself for a fight. Ryndoril readied his bow, aiming at the necromancer, but a skeleton hit him with a rusty sword as he let the arrow go. It went too far left, not hitting anything at all, and the skeleton was on him again before he could nock another arrow.

Ryndoril pulled out his sword instead, swinging back at the skeleton, when a jet of lightning hit him in the side. He cried out in pained surprise, turning to see it was the necromancer who’d shot the sparks at him. Ondolemar had cast a protective spell on himself and was now shooting fireballs at the necromancer, but it had been enough time for him to get a hit on the Bosmer first.

Ryndoril struggled with the skeleton, finally killing it before the other charged at him immediately. He knocked it into pieces just in time to swing around and see the third one going for Ondolemar; it stabbed the mer in side before Ryndoril could reach it. Horrified, Ryndoril hurried forward as Ondolemar fell to his knees with a cry of pain, but didn’t reach him before the necromancer hit him with a jet of frost, knocking him backwards.

“Damn you!” Ryndoril cried, fumbling for his bow once more. The frost spells always slowed him down, but though he felt utterly frozen, he could still shoot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ondolemar manage to take out the skeleton with his mace, though he remained on his knees, panting. The Altmer readied another spell, but before he could cast it, the necromancer had hit him with lightning.

Ryndoril released an arrow at the necromancer, and this one hit the mage in the shoulder hard enough to stagger him. Quickly as he could in his chilled state, he fired off another arrow; this one hit the mage in the gut, but the necromancer retaliated by sending a streak of lightning at Ryndoril once more. He yelled from the pain of it, still struggling through the cold to try and get over to Ondolemar. The Altmer was barely upright now; clearly the magical battle had taken it out of him. The necromancer aimed another lightning spell at Ondolemar, but just after it hit, Ryndoril’s arrow pierced his neck, dropping him. All was quiet.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril panted, finally reaching the Altmer.

“Healing potion,” Ondolemar coughed. Ryndoril was already searching in his pack for one, quickly uncorking it and handing it to the mer. There was blood everywhere; had Ondolemar really lost that much? “Thank…you,” he said weakly, the bottle falling from his trembling hand after he drank it. It shattered on the floor, but Ryndoril didn’t care about that now.

“Are you alright?” Ryndoril asked, wishing now more than ever he knew healing magic. “Can’t you heal yourself?”

“Out of magic,” Ondolemar explained. He started to fall to the side and Ryndoril caught him, easing the mer gently to the floor. “Thank you. The lightning spells…they drain magical power.”

“Dammit,” Ryndoril cursed, searching for another healing potion. He found three, along with a couple of energizing draughts. “Here,” he said, uncorking another healing potion and holding it to the Altmer’s lips. Ondolemar drank it, trying to catch his breath. 

“Are you hurt?” Ondolemar asked after swallowing the potion.

“I’m alright,” Ryndoril said quickly. “My armor took the worst of it, the rest was spells.”

“Good,” Ondolemar breathed, clearly still in pain though the bleeding seemed to have stopped. “I believe we may have grown too cocky.”

“We?” Ryndoril said with a shaky laugh. “You’re the cocky one, love.” Ondolemar gave him a dirty look before trying to sit up, then groaning. “Take it easy,” Ryndoril said, putting a hand on the Altmer’s shoulder. “We’re not in a hurry here. Rest a minute.”

“Do you have any potions to replenish magical energy?” Ondolemar asked, frustrated that he couldn’t simply heal himself.

“I don’t,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I never think to bring them, since I don’t use them.”

“I suppose I must stop berating you for relying on potions instead of magic,” Ondolemar admitted. Ryndoril gave a short laugh.

“See? Magic isn’t always the answer,” he replied. He was rather worried about the Altmer, but figured as long as Ondolemar was conscious and speaking with him, he would probably be alright.

“You’re shivering,” Ondolemar said, finally realizing.

“The frost spell,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Here,” he added, offering the Altmer the final two healing potions.

“Keep one,” Ondolemar said. “You never know when it might be necessary.” Ryndoril couldn’t argue with that, so gave the Altmer one of the healing potions and one of the energizing draughts as well, downing the other himself.

“Any better?” Ryndoril asked a moment later, keeping his hand on the Altmer’s arm.

“I will be fine,” Ondolemar said, feeling a bit stronger though his magic hadn’t seen fit to return to him yet. He still hurt, but it was certainly nothing life-threatening anymore. “Damn skeleton. I didn’t even see it was there until it stabbed me; the mage distracted me.”

“I’m just glad it didn’t kill you,” Ryndoril said shakily.

“It will take far more than some cursed skeleton to make that happen,” Ondolemar said dryly, starting to sit up again. He winced, but managed it. Ryndoril quickly handed him their water flask, letting the Altmer drink his fill before downing the last of it.

“You rest a bit longer,” Ryndoril said, squeezing the Altmer’s shoulder. “I’ll look around and see if I can find this damn Star. Bloody Daedra,” he muttered. Ondolemar smirked weakly.

“Indeed,” he nodded. He noticed Ryndoril was still trembling from the chill of the frost spell and wished he could warm him. “That body there may hold a clue,” he added, glancing around and seeing a body in a throne by the wall. He’d been too focused on the fight to notice it before.

“Right,” Ryndoril nodded, heading over to it. He found an old journal, a few random soul gems, and what was most certainly Azura’s Star – though it was broken. He took his findings over to Ondolemar, sitting on the ground next to the Altmer. He found he could use a moment of rest as well. “I think this is it,” he said, holding up the cracked, pointed star.

“Definitely,” Ondolemar said, looking vaguely sick as he stared at it. “It _feels_ evil.”

“Feels evil?” Ryndoril asked, turning the thing over in his hands. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t feel it?” Ondolemar asked, finally looking away from the Star. “It has a terrible energy.”

“I can’t feel anything,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head.

“Perhaps because I am a mage, and more attuned to magic,” Ondolemar said. “What else did you find?”

“Soul gems,” Ryndoril replied, setting the three in front of Ondolemar, whose eyes widened.

“Those are filled,” he said in surprise. “And with large souls.”

“Is that a good thing?” Ryndoril asked.

“Very,” Ondolemar nodded. “They will be quite useful for enchanting.”

“They’re yours,” Ryndoril said immediately. “And I found this journal, too,” he added, opening it up. He started to read aloud from it, sharing the contents with Ondolemar.

It was clearly written by Malyn Varen, bragging of his exploits in researching the star and besting the Daedra. He was quite convinced of his immortality, it seemed.

“Doesn’t look like he managed, does it?” Ryndoril said, eyeing the corpse in the throne warily.

“No, it doesn’t,” Ondolemar said, casting an equally wary look at the Star Ryndoril had set aside. “But it sounds like he managed something foul anyway. They were talking about how the Star needed more souls, remember?”

“Right,” Ryndoril frowned. “Well…I guess I’ll take it back and let Nelacar deal with it. He didn’t seem to approve of Malyn’s work, but…I don’t know. Maybe he can fix it or something.”

“Perhaps,” Ondolemar said. He sighed then, feeling tired after the battle; the loss of his magical energy was exhausting, and the rest of the fight hadn’t exactly been energizing. At least, however, he was mostly healed.

“Sure you’re alright?” Ryndoril asked, still shivering even as he reached for Ondolemar’s hand.

“I’m fine, Ryn, I promise you,” Ondolemar said. “We should get going back to Winterhold. With you so chilled and me so exhausted, we don’t want to travel far after darkness falls.”

“Are you ready to go?” Ryndoril asked skeptically. “Can you?”

“If you will help me to my feet, yes,” Ondolemar said, and Ryndoril immediately got up, hauling the Altmer to his feet. He swayed a little, but Ryndoril steadied him. “Come here,” he added softly, holding his arms open. Ryndoril stepped into them, grateful for the warmth of the Altmer’s embrace – but truthfully, far more grateful that the Altmer was alive to embrace him this way.

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril murmured against the robed chest. He knew he was getting blood all over him, but he didn’t care. He was feeling a bit warmer after a few moments, and so pulled away. “Alright. Let’s get back to Winterhold.”

“After you,” Ondolemar said with a small smile.


	5. Chapter 5

The two stumbled into the inn well after dark. A pair of wolves had decided they looked like easy prey, and likely smelled the blood all over Ondolemar. Ryndoril managed to take out one while Ondolemar hit the other hard with his mace, knocking it down for Ryndoril to drive his sword through it. 

“This adventuring thing,” Ondolemar said as they walked into the inn. “It isn’t always so easy, is it?”

“No,” Ryndoril said with a wry smile. He was still cold, but had mostly managed to stop shivering. “But it’s usually worth it. Ah, Nelacar.” The mage had been sitting at a table inside, and came over to them when they entered.

“You look terrible,” Nelacar said, his wide eyes focused on Ondolemar. “Where have you been?”

“Where do you think?” Ryndoril smirked, holding up the Star. “This what you wanted?” Nelacar’s mouth fell open slightly as he stared at it.

“You – you found it,” he finally managed.

“Ryndoril, I’m going into the room,” Ondolemar spoke up; he was having no small amount of trouble keeping himself upright.

“I’ll bring you some dinner,” Ryndoril promised with a smile at the Altmer. “We found it,” he added to Nelacar.

“We?” Nelacar said in surprise. “The Commander went with you?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Nelacar replied. “I simply thought he wasn’t really allowed to do such things.” Ryndoril’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you even think of saying anything to anyone,” he said protectively. “If you get him in trouble, I swear – “

“I won’t!” Nelacar said, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I swear. I was merely surprised. So – the Star. Did you find Malyn?”

“What was left of him,” Ryndoril said, handing the Star over. Nelacar took it gingerly, as though it were poisonous. “He was quite dead.”

“This thing feels awful,” Nelacar murmured. “It’s broken.”

“I saw,” Ryndoril nodded. “Well, I have no need for it, so…it’s out of Malyn Varen’s hands now. And his disciples. But you should know,” he added quickly, “that there seems to be something wrong with it – some of the mages we ran into were talking about how it needed more souls.”

“Unsurprising,” Nelacar murmured. “This is fascinating. Thank you, Ryndoril, for bringing this to me.”

“Sure,” Ryndoril shrugged. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some dinner and I think we both need to sleep,” he added, nodding toward the door of the room they’d rented.

“Of course,” Nelacar said absently. “I shall study this and see whether…well…” he mumbled as he walked away. Ryndoril shook his head – well, at least the mage was pleased. 

Ryndoril took two hot bowls of stew into the room, finding Ondolemar washing the blood from his skin. The wound was jagged and formed a purplish scar.

“That looks horrible,” Ryndoril said, setting the bowls down.

“Well, the sword was somewhat blunt,” Ondolemar said, wincing a little as he continued to clean himself. “Sharp enough to make it through my robes,” he added with a frown, “but dull enough to not leave a clean cut.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Ryndoril said quietly, walking over to the mer. He took the wet cloth from Ondolemar’s fingers, taking it upon himself to clean the Altmer.

“You did fine, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, stroking the Bosmer’s hair gently. He was touched that the elf wanted to care for him this way.

“You’re not supposed to be the one who gets hurt,” Ryndoril said with a half-smile. Ondolemar chuckled at that.

“And yet it is of no importance if you do?” he said, shaking his head. “These things happen, Ryndoril; it is the price one pays for doing such things as fighting necromancers. It will heal.”

“I just feel like I should have done more for you,” Ryndoril said, staring up at the Altmer now – he was now free of the blood that had soaked him.

“What you did was plenty,” Ondolemar assured him, leaning down and kissing the Bosmer softly. “Believe me, Ryn, I don’t regret it.” Injury aside, it had been the most exciting afternoon he’d had in a very long time, and he’d enjoyed it immensely.

“You sure?” Ryndoril asked, eyes not leaving the Altmer’s face.

“Very sure,” Ondolemar said. “I’m glad I went with you.” Ryndoril couldn’t help grinning at that.

*****

The next morning, Ondolemar left to try once more to go talk to Ancano at the College. Ryndoril wished him luck, and as Ondolemar walked across the treacherous bridge, he tried not to be impatient – starting off in a bad mood was not going to make anything better.

He found Ancano standing just outside one of the buildings in the courtyard, staring blankly at the stone column in front of him. This was most bizarre behavior; Ancano had always been purposeful, focused, and very on top of things. Yesterday he’d been erratic and not at all like himself; today, seeing him practically daydreaming, Ondolemar was starting to wonder if it was even the same elf.

“Ancano?” he spoke up, approaching the mer. As he got closer, he could see that Ancano’s eyes were glassy and oddly unfocused. He didn’t respond. “Ancano?” Ondolemar tried again louder. Had the mer perhaps gotten hold of some skooma?

“Hmm?” Ancano hummed, almost dreamily, not changing his focus.

“It’s – it’s Ondolemar,” the Commander said, frowning. “You asked that I come here to speak with you. May we talk now?”

“Did I?” Ancano asked, his voice still rather dreamy as though he were somewhere far-off and not standing right in front of Ondolemar. “What for?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Ondolemar said, beginning to get frustrated again. “You haven’t told me yet.”

“Most odd,” Ancano said, nodding at the stone column he was still staring at. “Well. I’ll be sure to tell you when I can tell you.” Ondolemar cocked his head in confusion – that made no sense.

“Ancano – is something the matter?” Ondolemar asked, utterly nonplussed. He’d certainly never seen the mer behave this way.

“The matter?” Ancano asked, finally snapping out of his daze and looking at Ondolemar for the first time. “What in the world do you mean? Hello, Commander. What brings you here?”

“What is going on?” Ondolemar demanded, starting to feel greatly annoyed – was the other Altmer playing games with him? He did not approve of such things and never thought Ancano had, either!

“I would ask you the same,” Ancano said, sounding confused. “You’ve never shown up here before.” All of a sudden he glanced up at the large clock in the building to their right, frowning. “Forgive me, old friend, but it is time for my meeting with the arch-mage. Are you staying long?” He started to walk away.

“Ancano, wait!” Ondolemar said, striding alongside him. “I came here yesterday, at your own behest, to speak with you about something!”

“You did?” Ancano asked, mildly surprised though he didn’t slow his pace. “I’m sorry, I must have been busy.”

“That’s what you said!” Ondolemar replied angrily. “You said to come back later. And it’s later, and I’m here, and I want to know what it is you wanted with me!” Ancano stopped dead for a moment, staring over at Ondolemar. This time, the Altmer looked utterly different – worn, tired, and somehow a little afraid. The look was fleeting, however – gone merely a second later – and Ancano shook his head as though to clear it, striding on once more.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Ancano said. “I’m sorry you’ve come all this way. I do need to meet with the arch-mage now, though – perhaps I shall come find you in the village later, yes?”

“Fine,” Ondolemar snapped. “Fine. I will try again tomorrow.” He was sick of being played with like this, and was quite angry at the Altmer for having him on. Nonetheless, he would try once more.

Ancano didn’t even look at him again as he strode into one of the buildings, shutting the door behind him. Ondolemar, growling, spun on his heel and headed back for the inn. If someone didn’t knock some sense into that damned Altmer, he was going to himself, that was for sure!

*****

“Ryndoril!” an excited voice called, approaching the Bosmer where he sat in the main room of the inn. Ryndoril looked up to see Nelacar, looking thrilled. “Come here, my friend, come here!”

“What’s up?” Ryndoril asked curiously, getting up to follow the Altmer. “Did you fix the Star?”

“No,” Nelacar said, waving his hand. “I can’t – not yet. But I figured out the problem – and I know what to do about it!”

“What do you mean?” Ryndoril asked as he entered the room. He saw the star on the table, looking just as it had before.

“I’ve been studying it all night,” Nelacar said. “And I’ve realized that Malyn’s soul still resides inside it. I can’t fix the star while he’s still there – his work is what broke it. But if we can destroy his soul, the Star can be fixed – and in the process, cut off from Azura entirely!”

“Well, I do like the sound of keeping it from her,” Ryndoril said wryly. That’d show _one_ Daedra to try and push him around!

“Precisely,” Nelacar grinned. “And it would even be usable afterward – a reusable soul gem! It could only accept black souls, but think of the possibilities!”

“Er – yeah,” Ryndoril said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He had no idea what that meant or why it was exciting. “So…you need to deal with Malyn somehow.”

“Yes,” Nelacar said, and he sounded a little hesitant now. “But it isn’t as simple as enchanting Malyn away. He’s put up barriers. Souls are only allowed in, not out. But if we were to…somehow…send a soul inside the Star. One that was ready to overpower Malyn from the inside…”

“Oh, no,” Ryndoril said, holding his hands up in front of him. “I know where you’re going with this. No way. Look what it did to your friend! You want that to happen to me?”

“No!” Nelacar said at once. “No, of course not! It would be a special type of soul trap,” the mage went on, breathless with anticipation. “Placing you inside the Star without fully killing you. Once Malyn has been dealt with, I’ll bring you back!”

“Sounds tricky,” Ryndoril said, frowning. “How are you so sure you’d be able to pull this off?”

“I studied this thing for years,” Nelacar said, clearly offended. Ryndoril snorted; these Altmer were very touchy about their abilities being questioned, he was learning. “I know everything there ever was to know about soul traps, soul gems, and enchanting. Of course I would be able to.”

Ryndoril thought this over for a moment. He was positive Ondolemar would not be pleased with the idea; if he was going to do it, it had to be before the Altmer came back from the College. And surely this Nelacar was good for his word – he wouldn’t kill Ryndoril and risk offending Ondolemar, would he?

And really, he’d fought worse than a lone mage who was clearly starved for energy, he reasoned. Surely he’d be able to handle dealing with Malyn Varen once inside the Star. And when it was done – _he would have defied a Daedric prince_. If that wasn’t incentive, he didn’t know what was.

“Let’s do it,” Ryndoril grinned.

“Excellent!” Nelacar said happily. “Now. When your soul is trapped, it will appear inside the star just as you appear now – so you should change into your armor and ensure you have your weapons on you.”

“Alright,” Ryndoril nodded. “I’ll be right back, then.”

“Hurry,” Nelacar advised, looking anxious again. He was sure the mage was thinking along the same lines he was, regarding Ondolemar’s opinion of the whole thing.

A few minutes later, ready for a fight, he returned to Nelacar.

“All set?” Nelacar asked.

“You’re really sure about this?” Ryndoril confirmed. “You’re sure you can bring me back?”

“Positive,” Nelacar said. “Just – er – don’t die while you’re inside. If you die in the Star…no one can do anything for you.” Ryndoril gulped, and Nelacar clearly saw. “Don’t worry,” he added quickly. “There is very little chance of that happening. You were a good enough warrior to make it through a ruin full of mages, and you survived a frost troll, even. I am sure you will be more than a match for Malyn.” A tiny voice in the back of Ryndoril’s mind, one that sounded very much like Ondolemar, warned him against going and fighting mages without magic. He ignored it, though – he could do this, he knew he could.

“Okay,” Ryndoril said. “I’m ready.”

“Excellent,” Nelacar said. “Now. Stand very still – this might sting a little.” A moment later, Ryndoril saw a blinding flash of light, and then – blinding _pain_. Everything hurt, it was as though his body were being ripped in two. _Sting?_ he yelled in his mind. It did a hell of a lot more than _sting_!

A moment later, though, he felt in nothing less than perfect health. He was standing on his feet in a realm made entirely of various forms of crystal.

“Ah, my disciples have sent me a fresh soul,” a voice said contentedly. Ryndoril readied his bow, looking around to see what he assumed was Malyn Varen, clad in oversized robes and staring at him. “Good. I was getting…hungry.” He paused, and in that time, Ryndoril sent an arrow toward him, hitting the mage in the chest. “Ahh!”

Clearly, the mage had not been expecting a fight; it took him a moment to ready himself, and by then Ryndoril had already fired another arrow, hitting near the first one.

“Curse you!” Malyn screamed, sending a fireball at Ryndoril. He cried out as the flame enveloped him; it was painful, but it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever dealt with. As soon as his vision cleared, he fired again as the mage started to back away. This arrow found its mark – straight into Malyn Varen’s head, dropping him.

“You’ve done it!” a voice echoed around him; he recognized it as Nelacar’s. “Now just give me a moment, and I will bring you back.” Ryndoril waited patiently – that had been far easier than he expected, even with the painful burns on him. It had almost been too easy; now he just had to hope Nelacar really knew what he was doing. 

A moment later, however, another fireball engulfed him. A surprised cry of pain issued from him – where had that come from? Malyn was dead! And why hadn’t Nelacar pulled him out yet? He saw a strange, human-like form coming at him, hitting him with another fireball.

“Hurry it up, damn you!” Ryndoril cried to Nelacar, with no idea if the mage could hear him. He readied his bow, shooting at the horned-human, but the arrow seemed to have no effect as the creature continued to barrel toward him. He swung his sword at it, knocking it back, but it only seemed to enrage it; another fireball hit him, causing him to howl with pain.

The next second, however, everything went dark – before he knew what was going on, he was falling backwards onto Nelacar’s bed, whimpering in pain. It seemed the burns had transferred to his worldly body as well.

“Ryn!” a familiar voice cried – Ondolemar was there, clutching his hand. “Ryndoril, by the Divines, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril breathed, realizing that on top of the pain, he was exhausted. It hadn’t been a terribly physical fight, but being on the point of death to have his soul ripped from him was surely to blame. He could barely keep his eyes open, though he caught a glimpse of Ondolemar’s face; it looked equal parts terrified and angry. “Just…burns.”

“I know, I see,” Ondolemar said, a catch in his voice. “I’ll heal them. Ryn, what were you thinking?!”

“I – just…” Ryndoril trailed off. He couldn’t stay awake any longer. The last thing he heard before falling unconscious was Ondolemar swearing to kill Nelacar.

*****

Ondolemar’s frustration with Ancano stayed with him all the way back to the inn. Thanking the Divines that at least Ryndoril was awaiting him inside, he strode into the inn, ready to relax with the Bosmer for the afternoon. Perhaps the wood elf would even have a suggestion about the mage – gods knew Ryndoril was better with people than Ondolemar had ever been.

As he headed for his room, expecting to find Ryndoril, he heard voices from the next room over – Nelacar’s.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Ryndoril’s voice said. Ondolemar paused, cocking his head to listen – that was odd. Perhaps he and Nelacar were doing something with the Star?

“Excellent,” Nelacar’s voice said. “Now. Stand very still – this might sting a little.”

Was the mage trying to _hurt_ Ryndoril?! Ondolemar thought, enraged all over again. He strode angrily over toward that door just in time to see a blinding flash of light cover the room, hear a cry of pain from Ryndoril, and then see the Bosmer falling lifelessly to the bed as soon as the spell had cleared.

“What in Oblivion do you think you’re doing?” Ondolemar cried, rushing into the room. “Ryndoril – Ryn! Nelacar, what have you done?”

“Ondolemar!” Nelacar said in surprise. “You – we didn’t expect you – well.”

“Have you killed him?” Ondolemar demanded, anger like he’d never felt boiling inside of him. He was terrified at the way the Bosmer didn’t even seem to be breathing. “ _What have you done_?”

“It’s alright,” Nelacar said quickly, staring hard at the Star on the table in front of him. “He’s alive, I swear. Don’t distract me,” he added. “I’ve got to concentrate.”

“Concentrate on what?” Ondolemar cried. “What have you done to him, Nelacar?”

“It’s a soul trap,” Nelacar said through gritted teeth, trying to concentrate despite the other Altmer’s anger.

“A soul trap?” Ondolemar said, seething. “You’ve killed him! You killed him to experiment with your precious little Daedric artifact!” Blinded with rage, he started for Nelacar, intent on ripping the mer’s head from his body. He was stopped at the last minute and thrown backward as Nelacar put up a ward.

“He is _alive_ , and if you want him to remain that way, I suggest you do not attack me,” Nelacar growled. “I have his soul on a tether so that he did not have to be killed. I will explain everything once this is done, but in the meantime, I highly suggest you _let me concentrate_!”

“Gods above, Nelacar, I will murder you in your sleep if something happens to him,” Ondolemar said, rage and terror flooding him. If the mer was telling the truth, though – if it was only his concentration keeping Ryndoril alive at the moment – he couldn’t risk it. Shaking with the force of his emotion, he strode over to the bed where Ryndoril’s lifeless body lay. “Divines,” he murmured, hating the sight. It felt as though he’d been hit in the gut with a mace.

Not knowing what else to do for the moment, he arranged Ryndoril’s body on the bed properly; he hoped somehow it would make him more comfortable, it would help – something. He sat on the edge of the bed, clutching Ryndoril’s cold hand, no longer caring whether Nelacar knew of his feelings for the elf or not. _By the gods, let him be alright_ , was all Ondolemar could think. _Just let him be alright._

An eternity passed in silence. Ondolemar was desperately wishing to get up and throw Nelacar across the room, or better yet off the College bridge into the blasted sea. Angry as he was, though, nothing could overcome his worry over Ryndoril. Perhaps the Bosmer _was_ still alive, but seeing him lying there on the bed as though he weren’t…it was ripping Ondolemar’s heart to pieces.

“He’s done it,” Nelacar finally murmured after another silent eternity had passed. “You’ve done it!” he cried louder, speaking to the Star. “Now just give me a moment, and I will bring you back.” Ondolemar tensed – could it be true? Could the Bosmer really be alright?

“He’s alright?” Ondolemar asked anxiously. “He will be alright?”

“He will if you move,” Nelacar said shortly. “You’re in my way.”

“What do you mean, if I move?” Ondolemar demanded, clutching Ryndoril’s hand tighter. “You’re not doing anything else to him!”

“If you don’t get out of my way so I can bring his soul back to his body, then Azura only knows what might happen to him!” Nelacar snapped. “Now get out of the way!” Ondolemar moved then, not wanting to risk Ryndoril’s life but not happy about the situation, either. He watched anxiously as Nelacar performed a complicated-looking spell; it seemed to take ages to Ondolemar, though it was likely only a few minutes.

Finally, Ryndoril’s body twitched, then jerked up off the bed; it fell back a moment later, but this time he was breathing. Ondolemar immediately leapt for him, clutching his hand, and realized that with Ryndoril’s return, his body had become covered in burns.

“Ryn!” he cried desperately, clinging to the Bosmer. “Ryndoril, by the Divines, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, his voice terribly weak. Ondolemar saw he could barely keep his eyes open. “Just…burns.”

“I know, I see,” Ondolemar said, his voice catching. “I’ll heal them. Ryn, what were you thinking?!” He knew it wasn’t exactly the time to berate the Bosmer, but he couldn’t help it – he was so relieved and angry and worried all at once!

“I – just…” Ryndoril trailed off, and the next second the Bosmer was unconscious.

“Nelacar, I swear by every one of the Divines, I will kill you!” Ondolemar said, rounding on the Altmer. Nelacar at least had the grace to look abashed and a little afraid.

“In my defense,” Nelacar said, “he is alive. And he _did_ agree to it.”

“And did you tell him what he was agreeing to?” Ondolemar demanded. “Or did you just use him as a sick experiment?”

“I did tell him,” Nelacar said defiantly. “And now that he’s done what he wanted to do, I can cut the star off from Azura – your little lover there just defied a Daedric prince and lived.”

“Barely!” Ondolemar cried, not even registering that Nelacar had called Ryndoril his lover.

“Regardless of the degree, he is still alive,” Nelacar said coolly. “Now if you will stop shouting, I can heal those burns – “

“No,” Ondolemar snarled, turning and gathering the Bosmer into his arms. “ _I_ will heal him, thank you very much. And if you ever come near him again, if you ever even think of harming him – “

“I do apologize,” Nelacar admitted. “I’m sorry, Ondolemar.”

“You should be!” Ondolemar raged. “I will be keeping my eyes on you, Nelacar, make no mistake.”

“I know,” Nelacar said wearily. “Just…take him and let him rest for a bit.” Ondolemar snarled at the mage as he stalked out of the room, going back into his own and holding the Bosmer tightly. He was so angry he could spit, but Ryndoril needed him at the moment; it wasn’t going to help the wood elf any if he tore Nelacar to pieces.

He took the mer’s bow and sword from him, gently removing his armor before laying him on the bed. He quickly set to healing Ryndoril, watching the angry burns fade away. Once the Bosmer was fully healed and didn’t look so damaged, Ondolemar allowed himself to breathe easily again.

It was fine, he told himself. Ryndoril was alive and fine, lying there before him, and everything was fine.

He sighed, bending over to kiss the Bosmer’s forehead before standing up and removing his own robes. He would settle into something comfortable and stay with Ryndoril until he awoke.


	6. Chapter 6

When Ryndoril woke up, he realized he was no longer in pain. He felt a vague soreness, but it was clear the burns had been healed. He glanced around, finding that Ondolemar was sitting right next to him, one hand on Ryndoril’s arm as he read a book.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed softly, seeing the Bosmer stirring. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said. “And healed. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar replied, rubbing the Bosmer’s arm. “Are you feeling alright?”

“A little sore,” Ryndoril said. “But otherwise fine.” He sat up, though Ondolemar kept a hand on his arm.

“Take it easy,” Ondolemar cautioned. “Don’t strain yourself.” Ryndoril adjusted himself more comfortably on the bed, then looked over at Ondolemar. 

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

“You should be,” Ondolemar replied with a small smirk. “But I blame Nelacar far more than you.”

“I agreed to it,” Ryndoril said.

“And he pushed,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “In any case, all that matters is that you are alive.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, and he leaned over into Ondolemar. The Altmer put his book down, wrapping his arms around the Bosmer. “I’m still sorry. We thought we’d get it done before you came back.”

“Ridiculous elf,” Ondolemar snorted. “Though coming back to find you unconscious may have been better than coming back to find you _dead_.”

“You saw that?” Ryndoril said sheepishly.

“Yes,” Ondolemar said. “I returned just as he cast the spell on you, it seems.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Ryndoril said.

“It’s alright,” Ondolemar sighed, grateful to simply hold the Bosmer. “You’re alright now. It’s fine.” Just then there was a tentative knock at the door, and Ondolemar got up to answer it while Ryndoril pulled on his regular clothes.

“Er, I thought I heard voices,” an anxious-sounding voice said outside the door.

“You,” Ondolemar snarled. “How dare you show your face here after – “

“Ondolemar, calm down,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head and coming to the door. 

“Ryndoril,” Nelacar said in relief. “You’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ryndoril said, putting a calming hand on Ondolemar’s arm. He could tell the Altmer was seething with rage, but he didn’t want a conflict. 

“Good,” Nelacar said. “As I said, I thought I heard voices over here – I was hoping you were awake. I fixed the Star.” He held it up for them to see; it was no longer cracked.

“Wow,” Ryndoril said, taking it and looking it over. “Nicely done.” He went to hand it back, but Nelacar shook his head.

“You deserve to have it,” Nelacar said. “After everything you did for it.”

“But I have no use for soul gems,” Ryndoril frowned. He glanced over at Ondolemar. “Do you want it?”

“That thing nearly killed you,” Ondolemar sneered, glaring at the Star. “I want nothing to do with it.” Ryndoril shrugged and handed it back to Nelacar.

“You use it, then,” Ryndoril said. “You fixed it, and you’re the one who wanted to study it. I’m just glad it’s cut off from Azura.”

“You’re sure?” Nelacar asked, and Ryndoril nodded. “Then please – take this,” he added, handing Ryndoril a sack of gold. “I cannot let you go uncompensated for your help.”

“You’re damn right, you can’t,” Ondolemar growled. Ryndoril shook his head, elbowing the Altmer.

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said to Nelacar.

“And thank you,” Nelacar said, nodding. “Malyn’s soul can rest now, and the world is safe from at least one particular Daedric artifact. Congratulations – you defied a Daedric prince.”

“Good,” Ryndoril grinned.

“I suggest you leave,” Ondolemar snapped rudely. Clearly he was unwilling to forgive the mage.

“I am,” Nelacar said placatingly. “I – I do apologize.”

“Just remember what I said,” Ondolemar replied. “If I ever get word that you’ve done anything else to harm Ryndoril – “

“I know, I know!” Nelacar said hastily. “If you are ever in need of anything and find yourself in Winterhold, you’ll find me here,” he added to Ryndoril.

“Thanks, Nelacar,” Ryndoril said, offering the mer a friendly smile to try and counter Ondolemar’s anger. The mage walked away, and Ryndoril turned to frown at Ondolemar. “You shouldn’t be so rude to a friend of yours,” he said reprovingly. Ondolemar glared at him.

“He very nearly cost you your life,” Ondolemar said angrily. “He all but _killed_ you, Ryndoril!” The Bosmer sighed, taking Ondolemar’s hand as he shut the door again.

“I know, love,” Ryndoril murmured, looking back up at Ondolemar. The mer’s face was furious, but Ryndoril could see the anxiety beneath the anger. “But I promise you I’m fine. He didn’t mean me any harm.”

“He always was a rotten coward,” Ondolemar snorted, but his voice softened as his hand came up to run through the Bosmer’s red hair. “I can’t help worrying about you, you know,” he added softly. Ryndoril smiled, then pushed himself up on his toes to kiss the Altmer. 

“You just fought your way through a ruin with me,” Ryndoril reminded him as they pulled apart. “You’ve seen how I handle myself, you know. You think that little of me?”

“Of course not,” Ondolemar said, resting his hand on Ryndoril’s neck. “You’re quite talented. But…Divines, Ryn, you know I care for you.” His face reddened at the confession, and Ryndoril grinned – the mer still wasn’t used to saying such things.

“I do know,” Ryndoril said. “And I appreciate it. But you should still calm down.”

“I’m trying,” Ondolemar sighed. It was, at least, easier to remain calm when the Bosmer was standing in front of him, perfectly alive. There was another sudden knock at the door, making them both jump; this time it was quite insistent.

“Thalmor!” a female voice demanded. “Are you in there?” Ryndoril and Ondolemar stared at each other in bewilderment for a moment before Ondolemar pulled away and opened the door.

“What do you want?” he asked, his tone returning to rudeness. He recognized the Breton woman standing on the other side as one of the mages from the College.

“You are needed at the College at once,” the Breton said, sounding angry. “Your associate has lost his mind!”

“Ancano?” Ondolemar asked at once. “What do you – “

“Yes!” the Breton exploded. “He’s toying with this – this artifact we’ve found, and threatening to kill us all!”

“He what?” Ondolemar asked, taken aback. “But he wouldn’t even – “

“It doesn’t matter!” the Breton snapped. “You are his associate and you must stop him! Come with me at once!” Ondolemar was about to reply scathingly that he didn’t take orders, no matter the situation, when Ryndoril’s hand on his back calmed him.

“Go,” Ryndoril said, his voice anxious. “It sounds like he needs you.”

“I – yes,” Ondolemar said distractedly. Yes, it did sound as though Ancano needed him. “Give me a moment.”

“Hurry it up!” the Breton snapped as Ondolemar shut the door in her face.

“How dare she try to order me around,” Ondolemar muttered even as Ryndoril handed him his robes.

“I know,” Ryndoril smirked. “But this is about your friend, not her. Do you know what’s happening?”

“I’ve no idea,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “He was acting oddly earlier, but gave no indication of anything like this. Threatening to kill everyone out of the blue…he’d never do that.” He finished fastening his robes then, pulling on his boots then his gloves.

“Then you should hurry,” Ryndoril said, squeezing the Altmer’s arm. “Just…be careful.”

“I will,” Ondolemar said quickly. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t you dare go off playing with Daedra again,” he added warningly.

“Don’t worry,” Ryndoril grinned. “Just go help your friend.” Ondolemar walked out quickly then, and the Breton immediately set off indicating that he was to follow her. He rolled his eyes but didn’t comment on it; Ryndoril was right, this was about Ancano, not this bossy Breton woman.

“What, exactly, is he doing?” Ondolemar asked as they hurried up to the College.

“You’ll see,” the Breton said shortly.

“Why do you need my help?” Ondolemar continued irritably. “Surely you mages could have handled him yourselves.”

“Hmph,” the Breton snorted. “He seems to be using some special sort of power. I imagine it’s something to do with the _Thalmor_ ,” she added sneeringly. Ondolemar was growing more annoyed by the moment; she clearly didn’t want to explain anything, but what was he supposed to do about it? The Thalmor didn’t have any particular magical powers that normal mages did not – they were _better_ with their abilities, but possessed no special power.

“You said he’s threatening to kill all of you?” Ondolemar asked. “And this artifact you mentioned – what is it?”

“That is none of your business,” the Breton said haughtily. “And yes, that is precisely what he is doing. Toying around with this artifact and attacking any of us who get too close.”

“And you think this artifact has nothing to do with this behavior?” Ondolemar asked dryly.

“Of course it doesn’t,” the Breton said at once. “We don’t even know what it does yet – we were _attempting_ to study it. And then as usual, Ancano burst in on our work and started messing with it himself. He’s never left anything alone before, why would this be any different?” she huffed, throwing her hands up in an annoyed gesture. Well, _that_ at least sounded like the Altmer Ondolemar remembered, he thought wryly. The curious mer could never get enough of learning something new. His own mother had often told him it would get him into trouble.

“You don’t know what it does, and yet you think it could not be affecting him,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. How could you know if you don’t know anything about it?”

“Because it’s just the kind of thing he would do!” the Breton snapped. “Take something new and exciting for himself and shut the rest of us out! This time he’s gone too far, I tell you!”

“Fine,” Ondolemar said, trying to restrain himself from pushing the woman off the bridge in his annoyance. Talking to her was getting him nowhere, and clearly she wasn’t very bright. He would wait and see what he was dealing with for himself.

“He’s in here,” the Breton said as they approached one of the doors from the courtyard of the College. As soon as the woman opened the door, Ondolemar could feel a mass of energy around him; it made him feel sick, and he actually paused for a moment to orient himself. “Well? What are you waiting on?” she asked impatiently.

“What is in here?” Ondolemar demanded, not taking a step further. “What have you got at this College? Something terrible is in this hall!”

“Yes, that Thalmor spy!” the Breton shrieked. “I already know that! I want _you_ to get him _out_ of here!”

“It isn’t that, you ridiculous woman!” Ondolemar shouted, though he took a tentative step forward. Whatever it was didn’t seem to be affecting her, and he wasn’t sure why. This step, though, let him see exactly what it was; a large, blue orb of pure energy was sitting in the middle of the hall, glowing brightly and emanating a most terrible feeling.

Glancing around quickly, he noticed a figure in black robes kneeling on the floor next to the orb, clutching his white-haired head – Ancano. The Altmer was groaning as though in pain. Several feet away, looking wary, was the Dunmer Arch-Mage that Ondolemar had met before.

“What’s he done now?” the Breton demanded of the Arch-Mage as she stalked toward him.

“I’m not sure,” the Arch-Mage replied, keeping a wary eye on Ancano. “He was casting some sort of spell on the Eye, and then a glow enveloped him, causing him to fall and start moaning like this.

“Make it stop,” Ancano was pleading miserably, clutching at his head. “Auri-El, make it stop…”

“What _is_ this?” Ondolemar demanded, afraid to approach the orb.

“I’ve already told you, it’s none of your business,” the Breton snapped. “Just get him out of here!” Ondolemar wanted to hit her, annoyed as he was, but clearly he wasn’t going to get an answer. Swallowing his fear, he strode over toward Ancano. Clearly, the part that mattered was getting his friend away from the damn thing.

“Get back!” Ancano snapped suddenly, his voice utterly different as his head jerked around to look at Ondolemar. His eyes were crazed as he got to his feet. “Stay away! It’s mine!” Ondolemar paused, eyeing the other Thalmor warily.

“Ancano, come on,” Ondolemar said cautiously. “You need to get out of here.”

“No!” Ancano roared. “ _You_ get out of here!” Ondolemar began to approach him again, and the other Altmer let out a hiss of fury. “I will kill you! Stop!” Ondolemar froze, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture.

“Alright,” he said calmly. The closer he got to the orb, the worse he felt; it was affecting him badly, and whatever it was doing was not good. “Just listen to me, Ancano,” he continued, keeping his voice calm though he was beginning to panic. “Come here. Just come over here.” Perhaps if he got the Altmer further away from the orb.

“No!” Ancano said again, and this time he shot a bolt of lightning at Ondolemar. The Commander staggered back with a cry of pain; it had been extremely strong. “Get away!”

“I haven’t come near you!” Ondolemar snapped back, angry and in pain. He righted himself, glaring at the Altmer. “Ancano, you must stop this!” He was reluctant to curse his friend, knowing he wasn’t in his right mind.

As Ondolemar watched, Ancano’s face fell out of the snarling rage it was in, his eyes becoming haunted as he gazed at the Commander.

“Ondolemar,” he croaked. “I – aaaahhh!” he groaned, falling to the ground and clutching his head again. 

“Ancano!” Ondolemar exclaimed, and didn’t even think as he rushed at the other Thalmor. That moment – the brief moment of recognition – was all he needed. Something was desperately wrong with Ancano, and he couldn’t let it keep going. An explosion of a ward threw him to the ground when he was almost at the other mer – he’d never experienced a ward so powerful. Ancano was glowing again.

Ondolemar, thinking fast, cast a paralyzation spell at Ancano. The elf froze, falling to the ground, and Ondolemar immediately darted forward with the intention of dragging him out of the hall. He regained the ability to move a moment later, however, and shot another jet of sparks at Ondolemar.

The Commander was truly frightened now; he knew his paralyzing spells were powerful, and no one had ever come out from one so quickly before. Whatever was causing Ancano such pain and messing with his mind so much was clearly far more powerful than he was, and he was starting to wonder if he’d even be able to do anything for him.

“Mine!” Ancano shrieked again. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You think I can’t destroy you? The power to unmake the world at my fingertips and you think you can do anything about it?” he cackled. There was an odd band of light attaching Ancano to the orb now, almost as though he were casting magic on it.

“The power to – what?” the Arch-Mage said, looking bewildered.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” Ondolemar shouted angrily at the Arch-Mage. “You don’t even have any idea what this terrible thing is, and you’ve managed to drive Ancano mad because of it!”

“I don’t give a damn about that stupid Thalmor!” the Breton shouted back. “He’s talking about destroying the world!” With that, she cast a lightning spell of her own at the Thalmor. Ancano shrieked, but it didn’t seem to affect him for long.

“I am beyond your pathetic attempts at magic! You cannot touch me!” Ancano yelled madly.

“Enough!” Ondolemar cried at the Breton and Arch-Mage who seemed to be readying themselves to fight Ancano. “Don’t!” He marched determinedly toward the elf himself. Ancano predictably shot a bolt of lightning at him, but Ondolemar was ready; he deflected it with a ward.

“No!” Ancano said, starting to back away from Ondolemar around the orb. “You will not deny me this! The Eye is mine!”

Ondolemar didn’t say anything, gritting his teeth in concentration as he got closer to the orb. He was determined to reach the Altmer and forcibly drag him away. He deflected another jet of lightning, though this one shattered his ward before dissipating; it was getting stronger. 

The Commander realized he had no choice; he was going to have to hit the other Thalmor with lightning himself if he had any hope of dispelling the Altmer’s power. It went against everything he wanted to do to curse his friend, the mer he’d had feelings for so long ago, but he forced himself to do it.

“Aaaghhh!” Ancano cried, falling to his knees as Ondolemar’s lightning hit him. He clutched at his head again, clearly in pain, and Ondolemar rushed forward, grabbing onto the Altmer’s arm firmly. “No! No! It is mine! Unhand me!”

“No,” Ondolemar growled through gritted teeth. A shock of lightning a moment later almost made him let go, but he forced himself to hold onto the Altmer through it. He dragged the Altmer away from the Eye, though Ancano fought hard for every inch, but Ondolemar didn’t give up.

“No,” Ancano moaned, finally sinking down again. Ondolemar felt the jerk as he fell, but resolutely continued dragging the Altmer across the floor. He _refused_ to let him go. “Nooo…”

“And keep him out!” the Breton snapped as Ondolemar approached the door. He snarled in her direction, furious that they would have let this happen and clearly thought so little of it, but he was determined to get Ancano out of there and so didn’t react further. He dragged the Altmer out the door, slamming it shut behind him, and all at once Ancano collapsed to the ground entirely, no energy left. Ondolemar loosened his grip slightly, turning to look at the mer, and saw that thankfully, he was no longer glowing.

“Ancano,” Ondolemar said firmly, kneeling next to the clearly worn Altmer. “Are you alright?”

“Ondolemar,” Ancano croaked, barely focusing on the Commander. “Get rid of it. Make it stop…”

“You’re alright now, friend,” Ondolemar said reassuringly. He was sure the further away from this Eye he pulled Ancano, the better he’d feel. “Can you walk?” Before he could answer, Ancano fell unconscious. “Dammit,” Ondolemar cursed. Well, this was going to make it harder. He got back to his feet, bending over to arrange the Altmer in a way that he could easily pick up, and the door opened once more.

“I thought you were getting him out of here,” the Breton snapped, shutting the door again.

“I am trying,” Ondolemar replied angrily. “He collapsed as soon as he was away from that thing.”

“He wanted it for the Thalmor,” the Breton said, crossing her arms and staring furiously at Ondolemar. “As you saw, it’s powerful.”

“Clearly,” Ondolemar snarled. “It is nothing that the Thalmor are interested in, I assure you, woman.” Perhaps Elenwen would be, but the clear danger involved meant it would not be wise to enlighten her. It would certainly do nothing good for the Dominion.

“Then what are you hanging around for?” the Breton asked.

“I told you I am trying!” Ondolemar said, and he picked up Ancano, throwing the Altmer over his shoulder. It was rather undignified, but he had no other option, heavy as Ancano was; they were similarly built, and the other Thalmor weighed about the same as Ondolemar. He turned to the woman again, his eyes flashing. “You will collect Ancano’s belongings – all of them – and bring them to me at the Frozen Hearth by morning. Do I make myself clear?” Ondolemar said firmly.

“I am not your servant!” the woman argued.

“I don’t give a damn,” Ondolemar said flatly. “You will do as I have asked.”

“Does that mean he will not be returning?” the Breton asked, seeming hopeful then.

“Yes,” Ondolemar said. “He will not come back here.” He didn’t know what might happen with Ancano now, but he knew he was not going to allow him to be sent back to such an incompetent place. “And I highly suggest you get rid of that blasted thing before it destroys you all.”

“Is that a threat?” the Breton asked, her eyes narrowed. Ondolemar couldn’t even think how to reply to this idiotic statement, so simply turned around and walked away, making his way slowly back to the Frozen Hearth.


	7. Chapter 7

“Ondolemar!” Ryndoril said in surprise as the mer walked in with another elf slung over his shoulder. “Are you – “

“I’m fine, Ryn,” Ondolemar panted. It had been harder than he expected to carry the mer all the way down to the inn. “There are no other rooms – do you mind – “

“Of course not,” Ryndoril said at once, grabbing his ingredients he’d been sorting on the bed. “Set him down. What happened? Is this Ancano?”

“It is,” Ondolemar nodded, settling the Altmer on the bed. “As for what happened…I’m not entirely sure. They have some ridiculous thing up at that College, some source of power, and it was clearly affecting Ancano. He collapsed as soon as I got him away from it, and he hasn’t woken.”

“Power?” Ryndoril asked. “Like, magical power?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar said. “And it’s terrible, whatever it is. I could feel it myself, just the short time I was by it.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Ryndoril asked anxiously. Ondolemar looked over at the Bosmer.

“I’m sure,” he said softly. “Don’t worry, Ryndoril. I’m just fine. I only got hit by a couple of shock spells, but they didn’t do that much damage.” Ryndoril breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is he going to be alright?” Ryndoril asked.

“I hope so,” Ondolemar said, returning his worried gaze to the Altmer. “I really have no idea. I don’t know what the thing was, or even _how_ it was affecting him.” 

“I have something that might help,” Ryndoril said, rummaging through his sack of potions.

“You do?” Ondolemar asked hopefully, glancing at the Bosmer. “What is it?”

“It’s a sort of magic poison,” Ryndoril explained, trying to find the small bottle.

“You wish to poison him?” Ondolemar asked, startled, as he sat on the bed next to Ancano.

“Well, it’s a cure for spells,” Ryndoril explained. “It’s meant to negate the effects of spells you’ve been hit with, and it does it by ridding you of the magic. But it doesn’t discriminate between magic you’ve been hit with or your own magical energy, so he’d be without his own for a time. Ah, here,” he said, finally finding the small bottle.

“Don’t you need it?” Ondolemar asked, eyeing the tiny amount. Ryndoril shrugged.

“It’s got some pretty rare ingredients,” he said. “So I save it for when it’s really necessary. It kind of seems like it is here.”

“You don’t even know him,” Ondolemar said.

“Yeah, but he’s your friend,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. “And you obviously care about him.” Ondolemar flushed.

“Ryn, I don’t…it’s not…” he said, feeling flustered.

“I know,” Ryndoril said kindly, putting a hand on the Altmer’s shoulder. “It’s alright, love. I promise. Besides,” he added with a wry grin, “you dislike so many people that if there’s one you actually like, there must be a good reason.” Ondolemar gave him a dirty look, and Ryndoril laughed.

“You’re sure this won’t hurt him?” Ondolemar asked, taking the bottle and examining it.

“Not long term,” Ryndoril said. “He just won’t be able to use his magic for a bit.”

“Well, he won’t need to,” Ondolemar said. He had to admit he was feeling a bit guilty for his concern over the Altmer; it didn’t seem fair to Ryndoril for him to care so much about anyone else. And yet the Bosmer was being so helpful, uncaring of any of it. He poured the potion into Ancano’s mouth and waited, hoping something would happen.

“It might still help, even if it doesn’t wake him up,” Ryndoril said after a moment, keeping his voice quiet.

“I know,” Ondolemar said, still hoping. Just then, Ancano _did_ wake.

“Where am I?” Ancano said, his voice still croaky as he looked around in bewilderment.

“At the Frozen Hearth in Winterhold,” Ondolemar said, catching the Altmer’s attention.

“Ondolemar,” Ancano said, sounding relieved. “Praise Auri-El. You came.”

“I did,” Ondolemar nodded. “A few days ago, in fact. You wouldn’t tell me why.”

“It was the Eye,” Ancano murmured. “It…it had me.”

“What is this Eye?” Ondolemar wanted to know. Ancano winced and grabbed at his head again. “Are you alright?” he asked anxiously.

“My head,” Ancano breathed. “It is…pounding.”

“I’ve given you a potion to dispel the energy that had you,” Ondolemar explained. “It’s likely the sudden loss of magic.”

“I see,” Ancano said. He saw the Bosmer standing to the side of the bed then. “Who are you?”

“Ryndoril,” the Bosmer replied. “The Commander hired me to guard him on the journey from Markarth.”

“He’s an alchemist,” Ondolemar said. “He made the potion.”

“Then I thank you,” Ancano said. “I think.” He winced as his head gave a particularly painful throb.

“It should go away soon,” Ryndoril said. “I’m glad it seems to have worked.”

“Can you explain what happened?” Ondolemar asked then. “What was this Eye?”

“The Eye of Magnus, they were calling it,” Ancano explained. “The apprentices found it on an expedition in Saarthal.”

“Saarthal?” Ondolemar asked, shocked. “Really?” Ancano nodded.

“Of course, I knew its power as soon as I saw it,” Ancano said. “You’ve heard the rumors about Saarthal.”

“I have,” Ondolemar nodded, “and I could feel its power, too. It was repulsive.”

“I thought,” Ancano said softly, “that if I could only find a way to harness its power, if only I could learn more about it…perhaps we could use it.”

“Fool,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “It was clearly meant to destroy.”

“I know that now,” Ancano said. “As soon as I became interested…it was as though it grabbed onto me. I couldn’t defy it, or rid its hold. It was…misery,” he finished in a whisper, closing his eyes.

“And that is why your mother always told you that curiosity would be your end one day,” Ondolemar scolded him, though more kindly than maliciously. “She was nearly right.”

“Dear gods, don’t tell _her_ that,” Ancano said with a tired smirk, opening his eyes again. Ondolemar chuckled.

“That Breton woman was convinced you were trying to steal this Eye’s power for the Thalmor,” Ondolemar said. “I told her we wanted nothing to do with it.”

“Good,” Ancano said. “And for that matter…Elenwen must never know.”

“Indeed not,” Ondolemar agreed. “Why did you write to her to summon me?”

“I knew you couldn’t leave the Keep,” Ancano said. “If she ordered you to go, however…” He sighed. “I’m glad you came. I barely managed to write the letter.”

“What do you mean?” Ondolemar asked.

“I knew I needed help, and you were my best hope,” Ancano said. “But it wasn’t easy defying the power of the Eye long enough to write the letter. I didn’t manage to make it give up its hold on me very often.”

“Ah,” Ondolemar said. “Well, yes, of course I came,” he added. “And just in time, it seems. Do you remember anything from earlier?”

“A little,” Ancano said.

Ryndoril stood nearby, watching the two old friends talk. It was strange to him to see Ondolemar looking at someone else in a way that did not contain loathing, and he felt the smallest stab of jealousy in his gut. It was ridiculous, he knew; perhaps Ondolemar had feelings for Ancano in the past, but that didn’t mean he still did, and he knew the Commander felt very strongly for _him_. 

In any case, it was kind of nice to know that Ondolemar could, occasionally, be friendly to someone else, he thought wryly.

“And what of your hired help?” Ancano asked suddenly, pulling Ryndoril out of his musings. “Can he be trusted not to take this to Elenwen?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar said quickly, glancing over at Ryndoril as well. “Of course he can.”

“Don’t worry,” Ryndoril added. “I won’t be saying anything to anyone.”

“Where are your guards?” Ancano wanted to know then. “Surely you would usually travel with them.”

“I don’t usually travel at all,” Ondolemar reminded him dryly. “But I thought it better for someone to remain at my post…and you know how much I dislike those guards anyway.”

“I do,” Ancano nodded. “So what made you choose this mercenary to trust your life with?”

“He is Thane of Markarth,” Ondolemar said, reddening slightly. “He’s proven himself worthy, and assisted me in catching out one of the heretics in the city.”

“Good,” Ancano said approvingly, gingerly sitting up. He winced a little as his hand went to his head. “Gods.”

“No better?” Ondolemar asked.

“Well, it’s better than the power of Magnus coursing through it,” Ancano said. “But it still aches.”

“You don’t have anything to make more healing potions, do you, Ryndoril?” Ondolemar asked.

“No, I’m sorry,” Ryndoril said regretfully. “I could see if the woman at the store has any, though.”

“I shall be fine,” Ancano said, shaking his head. “I’ve suffered worse than this before. I really ought to just get back up to the College,” he sighed, frowning.

“Oh, no,” Ondolemar said at once. “You’re not returning to the College, friend.”

“Ondolemar, you know that’s where I’ve been assigned,” Ancano sighed. “I will stay away from that blasted Eye and see if I can’t convince the Arch-Mage to get rid of the thing.”

“Absolutely not,” Ondolemar said firmly. “I will not allow it.”

“You don’t get a say,” Ancano argued. “It’s up to Elenwen.”

“And she is not here,” Ondolemar replied. “Therefore, as the Commander of the Justiciars in Skyrim, I am still your superior. You will _not_ be going back to the College.” Ancano stared at him for a moment.

“Thank you, my friend,” Ancano finally said softly. “You’ve saved my life.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ondolemar said. “I will give Elenwen the explanation she will undoubtedly require, but you are staying away from there.”

“What of my belongings?” Ancano asked.

“I told that horrible Breton woman that she was to retrieve them and bring them to me by morning,” Ondolemar said.

“Mirabelle?” Ancano said, disgruntled.

“I presume,” Ondolemar shrugged. “She seemed alright with it when she realized it meant you were leaving.”

“Of course she did,” Ancano spat. He sighed, looking around. “Well then thank you, Ondolemar. It seems you have thought of everything.”

“As is my job,” Ondolemar said smugly.

“Indeed,” Ancano chuckled. “Well. I suppose I will need to rent a room at this pathetic place they call an inn.”

“There aren’t any other rooms,” Ondolemar said apologetically. There was an awkward silence for a moment before Ryndoril broke it.

“I can find a bedroll,” Ryndoril said. “I’ll stay on the floor.”

“Are you sure?” Ondolemar asked, looking at the Bosmer. “I don’t want to make you – “

“It’s fine,” Ryndoril smiled, cutting Ondolemar off. He could see Ancano looking curiously at the Commander – it would be most odd for Ondolemar to be concerned about where his hired help slept.

“You don’t mind my sharing a bed with you?” Ancano asked.

“No,” Ondolemar said, a little too quickly as his face and ears reddened. Ryndoril tried to hold back a laugh. “It isn’t as though we’ve never done it before.”

“It’s been years,” Ancano said, shrugging. “But if you’re alright with it, then fine. I do appreciate it.”

“Let’s get something to eat,” Ryndoril broke in, trying to save Ondolemar his obvious embarrassment. 

“Right,” Ondolemar said, getting up at once. Ancano followed, though he seemed to be doing badly still. “Go ahead and sit down,” he said to his friend. “I’ll bring you your food.”

“Thank you,” Ancano said gratefully, heading for a table in the corner.

“I’m sorry, Ryn,” Ondolemar said in a hushed voice when the other mer was out of earshot.

“Don’t be,” Ryndoril said. “It’s alright.”

“You’re sure you’re not angry with me?” Ondolemar asked anxiously.

“I’m not _you_ ,” Ryndoril grinned, teasing the mer. Ondolemar flushed. “Really, it’s okay. I’m not saying I particularly like it, but he can’t go back up there.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Ondolemar promised. Ryndoril grinned wider.

“Good,” he said, pleased at the prospect.

*****

The three elves made their way back to Markarth a few days later. Ondolemar was going to accompany Ancano to the Embassy to talk to Elenwen, and Ancano was going to go home to Alinor afterward. Ondolemar convinced him a little time at home would do him good.

Ryndoril tried not to be jealous as he watched the two old friends interact. Ancano was decent enough to him; the elf barely regarded him, but Ryndoril didn’t expect anything else. It was clear, however, that Ancano and Ondolemar had been close before, and without any time to be alone with Ondolemar, the Bosmer was liking the return trip far less.

He had seen the anxious glances Ondolemar would send his way every now and then, and tried to reassure the mer with a small smile. He didn’t have any right to be jealous; Ondolemar was having fun with an old friend, and how could he possibly begrudge him that? But he could also see the way the Commander looked at Ancano when he didn’t think anyone else was looking. There was at least a little longing there, and right or not, it bothered Ryndoril.

Of course, it was obvious why Ondolemar liked Ancano so much; the Altmer was incredibly handsome, and the pair clearly went well together. It wasn’t like Ryndoril to feel so insecure, but then again…nothing had ever felt this way before. He’d never been so crazy about anyone else.

When they reached Markarth, Ondolemar bid Ryndoril goodbye; even Ancano thanked him for his help on the journey. Ryndoril had helped the two take out a small bandit camp that tried to attack them along with a pair of wolves, and when he’d found the ingredients for a healing potion at the bandit camp, he’d quickly made one to help Ancano’s head.

Ryndoril knew that Ondolemar _couldn’t_ say anything more in the presence of Ancano, but it was still disappointing to watch the two mer walk off together, leaving Ryndoril to head up to his house alone.

He sighed as he trudged up the final few stairs; it had been a fun enough trip to be sure, and he was glad they’d taken it, but this wasn’t quite how he pictured coming home. There wasn’t anything to be done for it, though, and he pushed the door of his house open to find Argis about to leave.

“Oh, hi, Argis,” he said. He realized his voice sounded dull; was he really _that_ upset?

“My Thane?” Argis asked, surprised. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. “Heading out?”

“I was just going to the tavern for a drink,” Argis said. “There’s stew in the pot by the fire if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said. “Where’s Lydia?”

“She headed back to Whiterun,” Argis said, reddening slightly. “We…kind of figured we should try to keep watch on the houses we’re supposed to look after.”

“You know that doesn’t matter to me,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “But have a good time at the tavern.”

“You…want me to stay?” Argis asked, looking uncomfortable. Clearly he was trying to make Ryndoril feel better, and even more clearly had no idea how he should go about it. Ryndoril laughed.

“I’m fine, Argis, promise. Go on and have fun.” His housecarl left then, leaving Ryndoril alone in the house – which suddenly somehow felt far too big and empty. Ryndoril shook his head at himself – how ridiculous could he be? Heading to the bedroom to set his pack down, he decided on a bath, then some stew, before heading to bed early. It wasn’t worth dwelling on the way things had to be for now.

*****

Ryndoril was awakened a few hours later quite suddenly, familiar lips pressed against his own in a desperate kiss.

“Mmmph?” Ryndoril managed in his surprise. He opened his eyes to see Ondolemar lying next to him, opening his eyes as he finally pulled away.

“Ryn, I’m so sorry,” Ondolemar breathed. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you, I’m sorry for everything. Please…don’t be upset with me.” Ryndoril simply stared at him in shock for a moment; he felt a little disoriented from just waking up and the pleasant kiss.

“Love, it’s alright,” he finally managed, and his hand found Ondolemar’s cheek in the darkness. “I understand. It had to be like that.”

“I swear I will make it up to you,” Ondolemar said desperately, sounding upset. “I missed you.” Ryndoril couldn’t help but grin.

“I missed you, too,” he replied, leaning in to kiss the Altmer once more. “And I’ll look forward to you making it up to me.” His anxiety had lessened significantly after the mer kissed him.

“As soon as I return,” Ondolemar swore. “You’ll be here, won’t you? You’ll stay?”

“Of course I will,” Ryndoril said calmly, stroking Ondolemar’s cheek with his thumb. “Relax, love. It’s fine; I’m not upset with you. I promise.”

“You have every right to be,” Ondolemar sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his face into Ryndoril’s touch. “I truly am sorry.”

“And you truly don’t need to be,” Ryndoril assured him. “You had to take care of your friend; you’re allowed to, you know.”

“But I didn’t mean to upset you,” Ondolemar said, a hint of frustration in his tone then. “I could tell, you know, I could tell you were – “

“It’s fine,” Ryndoril repeated soothingly, glad the Altmer couldn’t see his face redden. “I was just…a little jealous. But it’s okay. I still understand.”

“He isn’t you,” Ondolemar said. “I don’t…it isn’t…it’s not like with you!”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, wishing the Altmer would calm down. “Relax, Ondolemar. You’re more worked up about this than I was.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Ondolemar said nervously. “I couldn’t…I can’t…” he couldn’t seem to express what he wanted to say, but Ryndoril understood, and he smiled.

“ _I know_ ,” Ryndoril said a final time, pressing a finger to Ondolemar’s lips. “You won’t lose me over this, love. I’m not that ridiculous.”

“Good,” Ondolemar said, kissing Ryndoril’s finger. The Bosmer’s heart leapt at the sweet gesture.

“How did you manage to get over here without him knowing?” Ryndoril asked.

“He’s asleep,” Ondolemar said. “I waited until I was sure.”

“And Argis?”

“Is he here?” Ondolemar asked. “I didn’t see him.”

“Maybe still at the inn,” Ryndoril said. “How’d you get in, then?”

“I…er…” Ondolemar reddened, and Ryndoril laughed.

“You picked the lock, didn’t you?” he guessed.

“Well…yes,” Ondolemar said. “I had to see you!” he added hastily.

“It’s alright,” Ryndoril said, still chuckling. He kissed the Altmer once more. “I don’t mind. But you should get back,” he added. “You don’t want him to wake up with you gone.”

“No,” Ondolemar agreed. “But…you…you understand?” he asked anxiously. “You know he isn’t…you know I don’t…”

“I do,” Ryndoril said softly, brushing a bit of Ondolemar’s hair out of his face. He hesitated, then added, “Are you sure you’re not…well. Still interested in him?” Ondolemar flushed, and Ryndoril could feel the Altmer’s ear heat up.

“I’m…well…he’s…I mean, no, but...”

“It’s okay, you know,” Ryndoril said softly. “I can see why,” he added with a smirk. Ondolemar snorted. “You Altmer are a good looking race,” he teased.

“Of course we are,” Ondolemar replied. He let out a breath. “Ryn, are you – “

“Gods, love, _yes_ already,” Ryndoril groaned, laughing a little. “It’s _fine_. I’m not mad at you, I’m not going to run off and leave you. I’ll be here when you get back from the Embassy, alright?” He paused, then added in a softer voice, “Just…come back, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” Ondolemar said, bewildered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Just…well…don’t run off to Alinor with Ancano,” Ryndoril mumbled, feeling silly even saying it. “I mean…”

“Ryn, no,” Ondolemar said, pulling the Bosmer into his arms and hugging him tightly. “You are the one I wish to be with. That…that has not changed.” Ryndoril grinned against Ondolemar’s neck.

“Good,” Ryndoril said softly. “Then I’ll wait until you’re back and I can ravage you properly.” Ondolemar snorted.

“Insolent elf,” he said, shaking his head. But he squeezed Ryndoril tightly once more before letting him go. “Thank you, Ryn. For understanding.”

“Of course, love,” Ryndoril smiled sleepily. “Good night.”

“Sleep well,” Ondolemar murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the Bosmer’s forehead before getting out of the bed. “I’ll return as quickly as I can.”

“Be careful,” Ryndoril replied, feeling quite content as the Altmer walked away. He wished he could go with him, but knowing how Ondolemar felt was enough. He would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends the longest story yet featuring Ryndoril and Ondolemar (and a few others joined in a long the way!)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing it, getting Ondolemar out of Markarth for a little while and letting him have some fun. It turned into a bit MORE fun than he expected, but hey, it happens! :)
> 
> If you liked it, I would LOVE comments or even just kudos! It makes my day to know that someone enjoyed my work :)


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